'THEY  HALTED  BEFORE  THE  DOOR.' 
—117— 


LIFE  IN  THE  MINES; 

OR, 

CRIME  AVENGED. 


INCLUDING 

THRILLING   ADVENTURES    AMONG    MINERS   AND 
OUTLAWS. 


BY 

CHARLES    SIMPSON, 

AUTHOR   OF 

"Wild  Life  in  the  Far  West,"   "A  Yankee's  Adventures 
in  South  Africa,"  Etc. 


COPIOUSLY    ILLUSTRATED    BY    H.    S.    DELAY. 


CHICAGO: 

RHODES  &  MCCLURE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 
1898. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1898,  by 

RHODES  &  MCCLURE    PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGES. 

CHAPTER  i.    Introduction — John  Beaty  Leaves  Bos-     17 
ton  and  Settles  at  Kirwin,  Kas. — Two  Crop  Fail- 
ures— Starts  for  Arizona 21 


CHAPTER    2.       Suspense — Edith     Orphaned — Zack     22 
Too  Late. .  26 


CHAPTER    3.       Warned — Peril — Called    a     Halt —      29 
Floored — Thanks  Endured — A  Searching  Gaze . .      34 


CHAPTER  4.    The  Kid  Confused — Falsely  Accused —      34 
Tom's    Interrogatories — Approval — Name    With- 
held— Just  Plain  Tom 42 


CHAPTER  5.     The  Kid's  Story — Tom  Seeks  Light —      45 
Jim  Madison-  -A  Mystery — Tom  Declines  Reward 
— Seeking  a  Motive 53 


CHAPTER  6.  f  A  Brotherhood  Formed — Under  Tent     53 
— One-Eyed  Riley  Predicts  Trouble — A  Clew..  .      56 


CHAPTER  7.    A  Morning  Stroll — Tom  Abhors  Cook-     59 
ing — A  Venison  Breakfast— Tom's  Plan 62 


CHAPTER    8.      One    Thing    Accomplished — Silence     65 
Rather   than    Falsehood — The   Phantom   Horse- 
man— Forebodings — Alone — Kidnaped 70 


CHAPTER  9.      A  New  Pard — The  Diminutive  Speci-     70 
men— Efficacy  of  the  Quieter — Faro  Bill  Advises 
Caution — Faro  Facetious — Riley  Shadows  Wes- 
ton — Details  Settled — The  Swoop 83 


1711365 


CONTENTS. 


PAGES. 

CHAPTER  10.     A  Private  Prison — Enamored — The     83 
Siren  Repulsed 85 

CHAPTER   11.     Confronted — The  Lions   Bearded—      86 
Vow  of  Vengeance — Faro's  Bluff  Called 91 


CHAPTER   12.     No  Tidings — Aid  Secured — Inez  Al-     92 
varez — Rescue — Tom  Learns  How  It  Was  Done 
—Home  Again — A  Visit  Postponed 100 


CHAPTER  13.    Putting  Things  to  Rights — Dutch  John   103 
Rattled — A  Waiting   Policy — Decide   to  Investi- 
gate      1 06 


CHAPTER    14.     An    Arizona   Sunset — Awaiting   the   109 
Moon — On  Schedule  Time — Following  the  Phan- 
tom— John  Beaty's  Skeleton — Jim  the  Murderer.    115 


CHAPTER    15.     A    Late    Breakfast — Comparatively   116 
Contented — S.-B.   and  Hoe-Cake — Planning  the 
Next  Move — Tom's  Mountain  Home 125 


CHAPTER  16.    At  Work — Glistening  Quartz — Tom's   125 
Judgment  Commended — Tenting  at  Las  Animas.    128 


CHAPTER    17.      Discovery   Announced — The    Great   131 
Dam — The  Kid  Impatient — The  Tell-Tale  Blush.    134 


CHAPTER  1 8.    Seeking  Cover — The  Triangle  Confers   137 
—Land  Pirates'  Rendezvous — Fugitives  Hear  the 
News — Riley's  Listeners  Sava — Match  in  Hand..    143 


CHAPTER  19.     To  the  Mission — An  Intercepted  Tip   144 
—Lola's  Fatal  Letter — A  Late  Start — Swimming 
-Tom's  Unerring  Bead — Routed — A  Revelation.    1 56 


CONTENTS. 


PAGES. 

CHAPTER    20.       Kid    Revives — Doctors    Hopeful —  159 
Lynched — Long  Convalescence — Tom  in  Love..    165 


CHAPTER  21.     A  Happy  Waking — Kid's    Boyhood  165 
Passed — Tom's  Tender  Trend — The  Old  Story — 
Pleading  for  Delay — Tom  Longs  for  Home 171 


CHAPTER  22.      Farewell  to  Ruby  Gulch — Concern   172 
for  Tom — "Call  Me  Edith" — Transformed — Jim 
Madison  Located 178 


CHAPTER  23.     Dutch  John  in  Retreat — Hiding  and   181 
Plotting — Jim's  Bold  Plan — A  Rogues'  Rehearsal 
—The  Trap  Sprung — Tom's  Close  Call 187 


CHAPTER  24.     Entrapped — Calmed  by  Reflection —  188 
Whither? — Held  at   Bay— Captor  Entreats — No 
Let-Up 199 


CHAPTER  25.      Pad  Peesness — Dutch  John  Deserts  199 
the    Ship — Jim's    Forlorn    Hope — A    Desperate 
Plunge 203 


CHAPTER  26.    Courage  Is  Strength — Help! — Timely  204 
Succor  .  211 


CHAPTER  27.      Love  Triumphant — Snugging  Up —  211 
Tom  Obeys  the  Captain — Kid's  Narrative — Grate- 
ful Acknowledgment 2 1 6 


CHAPTER  28.     On  Terra  Firma — Made  Comfortable  219 
— Kid's  New  Outfit.  ,221 


CHAPTER  29.      Man  Hunt  Resumed — Run  Down —  222 
Vain  Pleading 226 


IO  CONTENTS. 


PAGES. 

CHAPTER  30.     Seeking  Passage — Beskirted  Again —  229 
Pleading  with  the  Captain — Debating — Tom  Cuts 
the  Gordian  Knot — Post-Nuptial'Cooing. 236 


CHAPTER  31.      Ready  to  Sail — Mr.  James  and  Mr.   236 
Brooks — Separation — He  Cometh  Not — Reward.   242 


CHAPTER  32.   Jim  Madison  Puzzled—  Behind  Stained  242 
Glass — In   Terror — Tucson  Joe  Bobs   Up  -  Joe's 
Headquarters — Feigns  Surprise — The  Dungeon..    254 


CHAPTER  33.      Held  for  Ransom — Up   a  Stump —  254 
Higgling— Blackmailer  vs.  Blackmailer 259 


CHAPTER  34.     Fred  Fears  Edith — Desperate  Straits  260 
— "  'Ands  Hup!" — Jim  Joins  Tom 265 


CHAPTER  35.     Patience  Exhausted — Tom's  Cordial  266 
Greeting — Garroted — Prisoner  Becomes  Jailer — 
Freedom  Regained — Sea  Nymph  Wrecked 274 


CHAPTER  36.     Vain  Search — Exit  Fred — Still  On-  277 
ward — Called     Back — A  Joyful    Reunion — Baby. 
Mine  .  .   282 


CHAPTER  37.     Jim  a  Cannibal — Sins  Recounted —  285 
Tom's   Seaside  Villa — Minus  the  Serpent — Cliff- 
side's  Former  Owner 290 


CHAPTER    38.      Tom's    Retrospect — A    Mercenary  293 
Belle— The  Test ..  295 


CHAPTER  39.      Benign  Providence — An  Old  Flame  296 
Visits  Cliffside — Belle's  Covert  Insinuation — Mis- 
chief Scented — News  of  Madison 3°3 


CONTENTS.  II 


PAGES. 

CHAPTER  40.    Reward  Offered — Granny  Jones'  Gos-  304 
sip — Sweet    Angie — Peaceful   Cliffside — Planning 
the  Picnic — Off  to  Santa  Barbara  Islands 311 


CHAPTER  41.     The  Picnic — A  Remarkable  Resem-  312 
blance — The  Veil  Too  Gauzy — Outing  Over — Too 
Exquisite  to  Last 318 


CHAPTER  42.      Jim's  Thirst  for  Revenge — A  Pliant  321 
Tool— Boiling  Venom — Treachery — Angie  Taken 
Away 325 


CHAPTER  43.     Cliffside  Aroused — Edith   Joins  the  326 
Chase — On  the  Trail — In  a  Dead  Faint- — Edith 
Inconsolable — Belle  Elopes — The  Treaty 335 


CHAPTER    44.      Edith    Plans    a  Raid — High-Toned  336 
Blackmailers — Uxoricide — Edith    Forgives    Belle   ( 
— Edith's  Vow  Fulfilled — The  Curtain  Falls..  ..    343 


12  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


<|  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


BY    H.    S.    DE    LAY. 


PAGE. 
' 'Jim  Madison  Chanced  to  Meet  Her." 16 

Edith 18 

"By  Hoky!     Stop  ther  Train!" 23 

Mrs.  Beaty  Received  a  Letter  Regularly 25 

"Don't  yer  go  fer  to  tell  me  yer  never  done  it." 28 

Glaring  upon  His  Victim 30 

"O  Sir!     I  'm  not  afraid  to  trust  you!" 35 

"O  God!     I  Can  't  Tell." 41 

"She  was  Prostrated  by  a  Severe  Illness." 44 

"Jim  Wro'.e  and  Told  Us." 46 

'  'He  Bade  the  Kid  Rest  Easy,  and  Went  Out." 52 

"Just  Cussing  Everybody." , 55 

"Dropped  His  Cup  of  Coffee." 58 

Barren  Hills  and  Sandy  Plains 60 

'  'The  Bed  was  Empty. " 64 

"My  God!     He  Has  Been  Kidnaped!" 67 

"It  was  the  Phantom  Horseman!" 71 

"H— sh!     What 's  All  That  Racket  About?" 74 

"Fool  That  You  Are!" 82 

Mile.  Laitner   84 

"Curse  You,  Faro  Bill!" 87 

'  'I  Have  a  Little  Business  to  Settle. " 89 

"O  Tom!"  Cried  the  Boy 93 

"Si,  Signer,  You  Can  Trust  Me." 96 

"Where  's  Faro  Bill?" 102 

The  Dishes  W6re  All  Dirty 104 

"The  Phantom  Horseman." 108 

"Directly  Over  the  Heart  a  Knife  Was  Sticking." 114 


ILLUSTRATIONS.  1 3 


PAGE. 
They  Halted  Before  the  Door." 117 

"Tom  Went  About  Starting  a  Fire." 119 

"Tom  and  His  Companion  Set  Out  for  Las  Animas." 124 

Patient,  Industrious  Toilers 126 

Ruby  Gulch  Dam 130 

Down  in  the  Valley 132 

"The  Man  Bent  Forward  with  the  Flaming  Match." 136 

The  Mission 139 

"On  They  Urged  Their  Foaming  Steeds." 145 

"The  Man  Fell  with  a  Sickening  Thud." 153 

"The  Doctor  Came  Every  Day." 158 

"The  Last  of  One-Eyed  Riley." 161 

'He  Placed  the  Things  Upon  the  Table." 164 

Spring's  First  Birds  and  Flowers 166 

"She  Came  Running  Down  the  Walk  to  Meet  Them." 173 

In  the  Garden 175 

'  'What  He  Saw." 180 

1  "Putting  on  Her  Wraps  Quickly. " 186 

"Stop,  Jim  Madison!" 189 

"She  Lay  Down  Without  Undressing  " 193 

'  'She  Dropped  Lightly  into  the  Water." 198 

Coasting  Along  the  Shore 200 

"Look!     Look!"  Cried  the  Old  Sea  Captain 205 

'  'She  Struck  Boldly  for  the  Shore. " 207 

' 'Hold  Her  Fast!" *  210 

Towing  the  Vessel  to  Shore.    ...    213 

"Just  the  Fit,  I  Do  Declare!" 218 

The  Old  Sea  Captain 220 

1  'He  Hurled  Him  to  the  Ground!" 223 

"A  Crowd  Gathered  About  the  Wreck." ....   225 

"Edith  Emerged  from  the  Dress  Maker's  Establishment." 228 

"If  You  Had  Been  Here  Yesterday,"  Said  an  Old  Sailor 231 


14  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 
' ' She  Found  a  Carriage  Awaiting  Her. " 2 37 

"Tearing  Open  the  Envelope,  She  Read." 240 

'  'Hello  there — Tucson  Joe!     Whereaway?" 243 

"A  Good  View  of  the  Harbor  Could  Be  Had." 247 

"Tom's  Jailer  Came  and  Gave  Him  His  Supper." 255 

John  Mason 258 

"Six  Masked  and  Armed  Men  Entered  the  Room." 261 

'  'Dcgged. " 264 

"In  an  Instant  Tom  was  Beside  Her." 267 

"Tom  Sprang  Upon  Him." 271 

"What  Is  It?"  Asked  the  Girl 276 

"Settled  Herself  for  a  Long  Ride," 279 

1  Oh!     What  a  Lovely  Place!" 284 

The  Cottage 289 

"I  Pleaded.     I  Promised  to  Toil  for  Her." 292 

"The  Girl  Who  Was  to  Be  My  Wife." 294 

'  'Not  a  Bit  Like  Her  Fa  her. " 297 

The  Grotto, 302 

"Skimming  Like  a  White- Winged  Bird." 305 

Granny  Jones 308 

"The  Picnic  on  Santa  Barbara  Islands." 313 

The  Long-Bearded  Foreigner 316 

'  'I  Must  Call  at  Granny  Jones'  and  See  How  She  Is. " 320 

"Tom  Departed  for  the  City." 324 

"O  Granny!"  Moaned  Edith 327 

"The  Nearest  Telegraph  Station." 329 

' 'Here  Is  the  Money." 337 

"He  Drew  a  Revolver  and  Fired." 340 


'JiM  MADISON  CHANCED  TO  MEET  HER." 
— 16— 


INTRODUCTION.  I  / 


LIFE  IN  THE  MINES;  or,  Crime  Avenged. 


INCLUDING   THRILLING  ADVENTURES  AMONG 
MINERS  AND   OUTLAWS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


INTRODUCTION. 

From  the  financial  ruins  of  a  great  mercantile  estab- 
lishment of  Boston  John  Beaty,  the  head  of  the  firm, 
emerged  a  poor  man — to  battle  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  against  fortune,  which  had  always  looked  upon  him 
with  a  beneficent  smile,  but  now  had  so  suddenly  turned 
her  face  away. 

With  nothing  but  himself  and  family,  and  with  the 
whole  world  before  him  from  which  to  choose  a  new 
home,  we  find  him,  after  a  careful  consideration  of  the 
possibilities  of  his  surroundings,  located  upon  a  small 
farm  near  the  thriving  town  of  Kirwin,  Kansas. 

For  the  first  two  years  he  did  well.  He  improved 
his  farm,  gathered  considerable  stock  about  him,  and, 
comparatively  speaking,  was  quite  prosperous  and  happy. 

But,  alas  for  the  ambitious  hopes  of  the  Kansas 
farmer!  The  drought  and  the  hot  winds  came,  when  the 
fields  of  waving  wheat  and  tasseling  corn,  bowing  down 
before  the  withering  blast,  died. 

But  the  Kansas  farmer,  though  an  inveterate  grum- 
bler, was  not  to  be  baffled  by  the  failure  of  one  crop.  It 
but  all  the  more  determined  him  to  try  again. 

John  Beaty  was  no  exception  to  the  general  rule.  He 
followed  the  example  of  his  neighbors  by  putting  in  an- 


i8 


INTRODUCTION. 


And  that 


other  crop,  only  to  see  it,  when  nearly  matured,  beaten 
into  the  ground  by  a  terrific  hail-storm. 

There  was  no  alternative.  He  must  mortgage  his 
farm  to  get  money  to  provide  food  and  clothing  for  his 
family  during  the  coming  Winter,  and  then  go  away  to 
seek  employment  elsewhere,  as  many  others  had  done. 

"But  where  will  you  go,  father?"  asked  the  wife, 
doubtfully. 

"Oh,  I  will  go  to  Arizona,"  he  replied, 
evening,  gathering  his    family 
about  him,  he  told  them  of  his 
plans. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  will  go 
to  Arizona.  They  have  dis- 
covered some  new  and  rich 
mines  there,  and  there  is 
plenty  of  work  and  wages  are 
good;  and,  perhaps,  there  may 
be  some  thing  better  for  me 
there." 

"O  papa!"  cried  Edith,  a  handsome  girl  of  fifteen — 
his  only  daughter.  "We  can  never  stand  it  for  you  to 
go  off  away  out  there,  and  leave  us  here  all  alone!" 

"It  is  the  best — it  is  the  only — thing  that  I  know  of 
that  I  can  do,"  he  declared.  "Beside,  there  are  several 
others  that  are  going,  and — ah!  I  don't  know  but  that 
is  where  the  trouble  lies,  for  Jim  is  your " 

"O  papa,  don't — please  don't!  I  don't  care  anything 
for  him — I  don't.  You  know  I  don't.  I  wish  that  he 


EDITH. 


INTRODUCTION.  1 9 


would  go  away  and  never  come  back.  I  despise  him — 
so  I  do!" 

"Don't  tease  the  child,  father,"  said  the  mother, 
reprovingly.  "She  isn't  old  enough  to  think  of  such 
things  yet." 

"No,  no — of  course  not.  Beside,  what  could  I  do 
without  my  boy — my  tomboy?"  laughed  the  father,  who 
loved  to  call  her  his  boy. 

Everything  was  arranged,  and  the  day  of  starting  at 
last  arrived. 

It  was  a  day  such  as  only  the  Kansan  knows  when 
Mr.  Beaty,  ready  for  his  departure,  called  his  "boy"  to 
him  and  bade  her  go  fetch  the  horses  from  the  stubble- 
field.  "The  boys  will  be  here  soon,  all  ready  to  go,  and 
you  can  drive  us  to  town." 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  the  girl,  mounted  upon 
her  fiery  little  riding  pony,  dashed  away  at  a  break-neck 
speed  down  the  road  toward  the  field  of  stalks,  where  the 
horses  were,  feeding. 

Edith  Beaty,  as  we  have  said,  was  a  handsome  girl; 
but  today,  as  she  dashed  down  the  road  upon  her  little 
pony,  her  long,  wavy  tresses  flying  loose,  her  dark  eyes 
beaming  with  health  and  pleasure,  most  ravishingly 
beautiful  did  she  appear  to  the  young  and  handsome  Jim 
Madison,  who  chanced  to  meet  her  just  as  she  was  cross- 
ing the  little  bridge  at  the  creek  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
below  her  father's  house. 

"Stop!"  cried  the  young  fellow,  seizing  the  bridle- 
rein,  as  she  attempted  to  ride  past  him  without  stopping. 
"O  Edie!"  he  cried,  impetuously,  '  'do  you  intend  to  send 


20  INTRODUCTION. 


me  away  without  even  a  parting  word?  Cruel!  Give 
me  a  parting  kiss,  Edie,  my  love,  and  tell  me  that  you 
will  remember  me  when  I  am  gone;  that  you  will  wait 
for  my  return  with  the  fortune  that  I  shall  win  in  the 
Far  West;  that  you  will  share  it  with  me,  for  I  love  you, 
Edie,  as  no  other  man  can  love!" 

"Stop!"  cried  the  girl,  with  crimson  cheeks,  strug- 
gling to  check  the  passionate  words  that  were  clamoring 
for  utterance.  "Stop!  Let  me  go!  You  shall  not  kiss 
me!"  she  panted,  struggling  to  free  herself  from  his  rude 
embrace. 

"But  I  will!"  he  cried,  passionately,  and,  in  spite  of 
her  frantic  struggles,  he  succeeded  in  implanting  a  kiss 
upon  her  ripe,  red  lips. 

"Oh,  I  hate  you!"  cried  the  enraged  girl,  giving  her 
pony  a  cruel  cut  with  her  riding-whip  that  sent  him  fly- 
ing madly  down  the  road  opposite  where  the  horses  were 
feeding  in  the  stalk-field,  when,  without  stopping  to  open 
the  gate  which  led  into  the  field,  she  turned  her  pony's 
head  directly  toward  the  wire-fence  and  cried:  "Over 
it,  Caesar,  you  rascal!" 

It  was  no  strange  thing  for  her  to  do,  for  she  would 
ride  the  wildest  colts  upon  her  father's  farm  without  sad- 
dle or  bridle;  and  the  neighbors  declared  that  she  would 
never  ride  through  a  gate,  preferring  to  jump  the  fence, 
even  though  she  found  the  gate  open. 

"She  's  the  harum-scarumest  critter  that  I  ever  did 
see!"  declared  Aunt  Polly  Jones,  who  lived  just  across 
the  way. 

"A  reg'lar  wildfire   as  what  no  good  will  come  of!" 


INTRODUCTION.  21 


assented  her  daughter,  who,  it  may  be  said,  was  a  bit 
jealous  of  the  pretty  girl. 

"I  don't  care!  She  's  a  bully  girl — she  is;  an'  she 
kin  lick  the  best  boy  in  school!"  declared  Zack  Jones,  a 
big,  gawky  fellow  of  about  Edith's  age. 

"Yes;  an'  she  licked  you,  too,  yesterday!"  snapped 
Nancy. 

"Don't  care  if  she  did;  I  'd  no  business  a-trying  ter 
kiss  "er,"  retorted  Zack. 

"There  she  goes  now!  See  her  go  over  the  fence!' 
ejaculated  Aunt  Polly. 

"Bully!"  shouted  Zack.      "She  's  a  stunner!" 

"She  air  a  moughty  fine  gal — she  air!"  attested  old 
man  Jones,  vehemently,  as  he  ejected  a  stream  of 
tobacco-juice  from  his  capacious  mouth  with  such  pre- 
cision as  to  hit  old  dog  Rover  square  in  the  eye  as  he  sat 
blinking  in  the  corner  behind  the  stove. 

Up  through  the  field  by  neighbor  Jones',  with  the 
horses  upon  a  run,  dashed  the  dauntless  Edith. 

Arriving  at  home,  the  team  was  soon  harnessed  and 
hitched  to  the  wagon;  and  then,  with  her  father,  Jim 
Madison  and  two  other  of  the  neighbor  boys,  and  their 
luggage,  she  set  out  for  Kirwin,  where  they  were  to  take 
the  train  for  Denver. 

At  the  depot,  she  kissed  her  father  an  affectionate 
farewell,  shook  hands  with  each  of  the  boys,  wished 
them  a  pleasant  journey,  and  then  returned  home. 


22  SUSPENSE. 


CHAPTER  II. 


SUSPENSE    FOLLOWS    PARTING 

All  through  the  Winter  and  the  following  Summer 
Mrs.  Beaty  and  her  daughter  received  a  letter  regularly 
each  week  from  the  absent  husband  and  father,  telling 
them  of  his  success,  which,  he  said,  far  exceeded  his 
most  sanguine  expectations. 

After  working  all  Winter  in  the  mines,  he  set  out  in 
the  Spring  to  prospect  a  little  on  his  owii  account.  In 
this  he  had  been  very  successful,  for,  during  the  Summer, 
he  and  Jim  Madison  discovered  a  very  rich  mine.  After 
working  their  mine  till  Autumn,  they  sold  out,  and  Mr- 
Beaty  started  for  home. 

This  was  the  last  that  was  ever  seen  or  heard  of  him. 

When  he  did  not  return,  as  he  had  promised  them  in 
his  last  letter,  they  wrote,  but  could  get  no  answer. 
Then,  as  the  other  two  boys  that  had  gone  with  him  had 
returned,  they  wrote  to  Jim  Madison,  but  for  a  long  time 
they  received  no  answer  from  him.  But  finally  he  wrote, 
telling  them  that  Mr.  Beaty  had  dissolved  partnership 
with  him,  and  after  selling  his  property  had,  as  he  sup- 
posed, returned  home. 

Detectives  were  then  employed  to  look  up  the  miss- 
ing man,  but  nothing  could  be  learned  of  his  whereabouts 
or  of  his  fate  more  than  that  he  had  set  out  for  home. 
Not  even  a  trace  of  the  missing  man  could  be  found. 
Thus  passed  the  long,  dreary  Winter  months. 

The  terrible  disappointment  and  worry  over  the  un- 


'Bv  HOKY!     STOP  THER  TRAIN!' 
—23— 


EDITH    ORPHANED. 


certain  fate  of  the  husband  had,  at  last,  prostrated  the 
wife  with  a  severe  illness,  from  which  she  never  recov- 
ered. Gradually  weaker  and  weaker  she  grew  until 
Spring,  when  she  died. 

"Poor  soul!"  said  good  Aunt  Polly  Jones.  "She  has 
worried  herself  to  death,  and  no 
wonder. " 

"What  '11  the  gal  do,  I  won- 
der?" interrogated  old  man  Jones. 
'  'They  Ve  sold  out  ev'ry 
hoof,  an'  even  th'  furni- 
toor,  fer  to  git  money  to 
carry  on  th'  search  with. 
Don't  b'lieve  that  she's 
got  nary  a  copper  left." 

"I  axed  her  to  come 
here  and  stay  with  our 
Nancy,  as  we  was  a- 
comin'  home  from  the 
buryin';  but,  poor  child! 
she  ;s  jest  that  nigh  crazy 
she  don't  know  which  end 
she  's  on,"  declared  Mrs.  Jones. 

"Land  alive!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Madison.  "Did  you 
ever  see  such  carryings  on  as  she  did  make  at  the 
funeral?  She  just  raved,  and  she  vowed  that  she  'd  solve 
the  mystery  of  her  dad's  fate,  and  she  'd  avenge  her 
mother's  death.  I  believe  that  somebody  had  ought  to 
see  after  her,  or  she  '11  do  some  thing  awful." 

"Bet  yer  bottom  dollar  she  will  do  that  very  thing!" 


MRS.  BEATY  RECEIVED  A  LETTER 
REGULARLY. 


26  ZACK    TOO    LATE. 


cried  Zack,  who  had  come  in  just  in  time  to  hear  the  last 
remark  of  Mrs.  Madison.  "She  's  a  stunner — she  air! 
I  jest  met  her  a-goin'  down  the  road,  an'  when  I  axed 
her  where  she  was  goin'  she  said  as  how  she  was  goin'  to 
Bostin,  where  her  brother  or  somebody  lived,  an'  she  's 
goin'  to  send  him  out  there  fer  to  look  up  her  dad." 

"Zack,  yer  gits  on  ter  ole  Kit  an'  takes  arter  her," 
said  old  man  Jones.  "She  's  not  a-goin'  ter  leave  here 
without  no  money.  Here  's  twenty-five  dollars  as  what  's 
left  from  sellin'  of  them  hogs  yesterday.  Take  it,  an'  if 
she  won't  come  back,  give  it  ter  her.  It  '11  help  her  a 
little." 

"Bully  fer  me!"  shouted  Zack,  grasping  the  money 
and  hastening  away  to  get  his  horse.  In  a  few  moments 
he  was  galloping  away  toward  town  in  pursuit  of  the  girl. 

"Whoop!"  vociferated  the  excited  Zack,  as  he  dashed 
up  to  the  depot  platform  just  in  time  to  see  the  train 
upon  which  the  girl  had  taken  her  departure  disappear. 
"Whoop!  By  hoky!  Stop  ther  train!  Gol  darn  my 
hide,  she's  gone!  I'm  left!"  Then,  turning  his  horse 
toward  home,  he  returned  and  told  his  parents  that  she 
had  gone  for  "Bostin,  where  her  brother  or  somebody 
lived." 


WARNED. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE    HUNCHBACK    WARNS    THE    KID. 

"Kid!  You  thar,  Kid!  Look  out!  He  's  gwine  ter 
knife  yer!" 

These  words  of  warning  came  from  a  little,  dried-up, 
humpbacked  specimen  of  the  genus  Jiomo  who  had  just 
entered  the  gambling  den  and  dance  hall — a  low,  dis- 
reputable dive  known  as  the  Casino,  in  the  new  mining 
town  of  Las  Animas,  in  the  northwest  part  of  Arizona — 
and  were  directed  to  a  slim,  girlish-looking  lad,  who  was 
engaged  in  an  altercation  with  a  huge,  coarse-looking 
miner,  who  was  apparently  upon  the  point  of  striking  the 
lad  with  a  knife. 

"Poke  yer  nose  in  here,  will  yer?  Maybe  yer  don't 
know  me,  yer  dried-up  son-of-a-whiffet!  Whoop!  I'm 
ther  rip-roarin'  ritudelorium  from  Bitter  Creek — I  am! 
Whoop!" 

Thus  roared  the  renegade,  and,  with  a  bound  which 
would  have  done  credit  to  an  enraged  lion,  he  sprang  to- 
ward the  unfortunate  but  well-meaning  meddler,  and, 
planting  a  blow  from  his  ponderous  fist  full  Upon  the 
little  man's  nose,  sent  him  spinning  across  the  room. 
There,  limp  and  apparently  lifeless,  he  collapsed  and  lay 
in  a  heap  till  some  one,  taking  pity  upon  him,  dragged 
him  away,  groaning  and  muttering  deep  vengeance  upon 
the  head  of  his  assailant. 

Without  even  one  parting  glance  at  his  victim,  for 
little  did  the  renegade  care  whether  he  was  killed  or  not, 


PERIL. 


Tucson  Joe— the  bad  man  from  Bitter  Creek,  horse 
thief,  murderer,  anything  that  was  bad,  nothing  that  was 
good — turned  again  upon  the  lad,  and,  in  a  voice  hoarse 
with  drunken  passion,  cried: 

"Give  'er  up,  yer  white-livered  son  of  a  sneak  thief! 
Give  'er  up,  or  by  the  Moly  Hoses  I'll  cut  yer  bloody  lit- 
tle heart  outen  yer!" 

"I  have  n't  got  it,"  replied  the  accused,  a  lad  of  some 
fifteen  years  of  age — slim, 
almost  girlish  in  form  and 
feature.  Almost?  No — not 
almost,  but  altogether  girlish, 
and  with  a  face  that  any  girl 
might  be  proud  of,  though 
browned  by  exposure  to  sun 
and  wind;  large,  lustrous, 
deep-blue  eyes,  and  hair 
which,  though  cropped  quite 
short,  curled  up  in  golden 
ringlets  all  over  his  round 
head  and  drooped  down  over 
a  broad,  low  brow  as  smooth  and  white  as  marble.  "I 
have  n't  got  it,"  he  declared. 

"Yer  lie — yer  measly  little  whelp!"  shouted  the  rene- 
gade, making  a  dive  for  the  boy. 

"What  has  he  done,  Joe?  What  has  the  Kid  done?" 
inquired  the  keeper  of  the  Casino,  in  a  conciliatory  tone. 

"Done?  What  's  ther  Kid  done,  did  yer  say?  He  's 
stole  my  pocket-book — that  's  what  he  's  done.  And  if 
he  don't  give  'er  up  I'll  have  his  bloody  little  liver!" 


GLARING  UPON  His  VICTIM. 


CALLED    A    HALT.  31 

"I  never  did  it!"  cried  the  lad,  defiantly.  "I  know 
nothing  about  it." 

"Don't  yer  go  fer  to  tell  me  yer  never  done  it,  yer — 
And  he  ripped  out  a  string  of  oaths  as  long  as  his  brawny 
arm. 

"I  never!"  cried  the  boy,  and  his  eyes  blazed  with 
indignation. 

"O  yer  imp  of — 

But  speech  failed  him.  For,  so  infuriated  was  he, 
his  voice  choked  with  passion  and  gave  way  to  a  long, 
fiendish  hiss,  as,  gathering  himself  together,  and  with  all 
his  fiendish,  demoniacal  strength  and  fury,  he  prepared 
to  spring  upon  the  Kid. 

"Hold  there!" 

These  words  rang  loud  and  clear  down  through  the 
crowded  saloon.  There  was  something  terribly  impress- 
ive in  the  ring  of  that  deep-toned  voice  of  command. 

Turning  like  a  demon  ot  fury — and  he  was  as  near  it 
as  mortal  man  could  well  be — Tucson  Joe  faced  the  pre- 
sumptuous meddler,  fully  determined  to  "lay  him  out," 
as  he  had  done  the  little  humpbacked  fellow  but  a  mo- 
ment before. 

"Moly  Hoses!"  he  fairly  roared,  livid  with  rage  and 
foaming  at  the  mouth  like  an  enraged  boar;  and  with  his 
bleary  eyes,  blood-shot  and  bloated  from  whisky  drink- 
ing, glaring  upon  his  victim,  he  prepared  to  spring  upon 
him. 

For  a  moment  the  two  men,  both  giants  in  stature, 
stood  gazing  upon  each  other;  and  then,  like  a  thunder- 
bolt, they  sprang  together.  For  a  moment  the  circle  of 


32  FLOORED. 

eager,  expectant  men  who  had  gathered  about  them 
widened  a  little.  Then  came  the  sound — that  dull,  sick- 
ening sound — of  a  heavy  blow,  followed  by  a  half-cry, 
half-groan,  and  Tucson  Joe,  the  bad  man  from  Bitter 
Creek  and  bully  of  northern  Arizona,  turning  a  half 
somersault,  landed  full  upon  his  head  and  shoulders 
beneath  the  bar,  where  he  lay  white  and  quivering. 

"Quick  here,  Faro!"  cried  a  score  of  voices.  "Give 
'im  a  glass  o'  whisky!" 

"O  sir!"  came  in  a  low,  soft  tone,  and  a  light,  shapely 
hand  rested  upon  the  arm  that  had  so  summarily  dealt 
with  Tucson  Joe.  "O  sir!  I  am  so  sorry,  indeed,  to 
have  been  the  cause  of  this.  He  will  seek  your  life  in 
revenge  for  this  terrible  punishment  which  you  have  in- 
flicted upon  him,"  said  the  Kid,  in  a  tone  of  deep  regret. 

"Let  him  seek!  And  much  good  may  it  do  him!" 
replied  the  stranger.  "But  see  here,  my  lad.  Did  you 
steal  his  pocket-book,  as  he  said  you  did?" 

"No — no!"  cried  the  boy,  earnestly.  "I  did  not.  So 
help  me  God,  I  know  nothing  about  it." 

"Well,  I  believe  you,  my  lad,"  declared  the  stranger. 
"But  now  you  had  better  get  out  of  here.  This  is  no 
place  for  an  honest  man  or  boy.  You  had  better  go,  and 
so  will  I."  And  he  turned  toward  the  door. 

"Say,  my  lad,  are  you  in  a  hurry?"  asked  the  stranger. 
"If  you  are  not,  I  would  like  to  talk  with  you  a  little. 
The  hour  is  not  yet  late;  come  down  to  camp  with  me, 
will  you?" 

"If  you  wish  me  to,"  replied  the  boy.  "And  please, 
kind  sir,  let  me  thank  you  for  the  timely  assistance — 


THANKS    ENDURED.  33 

~T~ 

"There — there!  That  will  do  for  the  present.  But 
if  it  will  give  you  an}7  pleasure  to  thank  me  for  doing  my 
duty  toward  a  fellow-creature  in  distress,  why,  just  thank 
away.  I  can  stand  it, "  said  the  stranger. 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  feel — I  know — that  you  have  saved 
my  life." 

"Nonsense,  boy!     He  did  not  intend  to  murder  you." 

"O  sir!  You  don't  know  that  man,  or  you  would  n't 
doubt  it,"  declared  the  boy,  earnestly. 

"No.  I  don't  know  him,  nor  do  I  want  to.  I  am  a 
stranger  here.  Do  you  live  here?"  queried  the  man. 

"Live  here?  No — yes.  That  is,  I  am  staying  here," 
stammered  the  boy. 

"Not  living,  but  just  staying,"  mused  the  stranger. 
"Well,  I  understand  that  all  right  enough.  I  am  not  a 
tenderfoot.  But  here  we  are.  This  is  my  tent;  come 
in."  This  was  said  as  they  reached  a  little  tent  just  out, 
of  town  a  few  steps.  "Come  in,"  he  repeated,  raising 
the  flap  which  served  as  a  door,  and  the  two  entered. 

Placing  a  box  which  served  at  once  as  table,  chair 
and  "grub-box"  before  his  visitor,  he  bade  him  be  seated, 
while  he  sat  down  upon  a  large  bundle  of  bedding. 

For  a  few  minutes  they  sat  in  silence.  The  stranger 
was  deeply  engaged  in  his  own  thoughts. 

By  the  dim  light  of  a  lantern  which  was  hanging  sus- 
pended from  the  ridge-pole  overhead,  the  lad  had  a  good 
view  of  his  new-found  friend's  countenance.  It  was  a 
plain  but  honest  face;  browned  by  the  burning  sun  and 
winds  of  the  mountains  and  plains  of  Arizona;  a  face 
upon  which  was  reflected  the  character  of  a  true  and 


34  A    SEARCHING    GAZE. 

noble-hearted  man;  a  man  whose  friendship  is  to  be 
valued  beyond  all  price;  one  of  Nature's  true  gentlemen. 
All  this  the  boy  saw,  for  he  was  quick  to  read  the 
unmistakable  traits  of  character  written  upon  the  faces 
of  men.  And  deep  down  in  the  lad's  heart  he  felt  that 
he  had  found  a  true  friend — a  man  in  whom  he  could 
place  all  confidence,  to  whom  he  could  go  for  help,  if 
need  be;  and,  judging  from  what  we  have  already  seen, 
we  must  needs  believe  that  there  would  be  plenty  of  need. 


CHAPTER   IV 


THE    STRANGERS    EYES    STRIKE    DEEP. 

Presently,  as  if  feeling  the  keen,  wishful  gaze  bent  so 
inquiringly,  so  earnestly  upon  him,  the  stranger  raised 
his  eyes  and  met  those  of  the  Kid.  For  a  moment  their 
eyes  met,  and  the  Kid  looked  down  into  the  fathomless 
depths  of  the  keen,  gray  eyes  of  his  companion. 

Straight  into  the  lad's  dark-blue  eyes  the  stranger 
looked,  as  if  reading  there  the  inmost  secrets  of  his 
heart.  Unconsciously  the  lad's  eyes  drooped  before  the 
keen,  questioning  gaze  bent  so  inquiringly  upon  him,  and 
a  painful  blush  tinged  his  fair  young  face.  It  seemed  to 
the  lad  that  those  keen,  gray  eyes  were  looking  down 
into  his  very  heart — so  keen  were  they  and  piercing, 
holding  him  under  a  sort  of  mesmeric  spell,  which  he 
could  not,  if  he  would,  resist. 

"Beg  pardon,  my  lad,  for  my  rudeness,"  said  the 
stranger,  reassuringly.  "I  was  trying  to  place  you.  I 


'O  SlR1.       I  'M  NOT  AFRAID  TO  TRUST  YOU." 

—35— 


THE    KID    CONFUSED.  37 

believe  that  I  have  seen  you  before — or,  at  least,  some 
one  who  greatly  resembles  you;  but  I  can  not  say  just 
where." 

"It  must  have  been  some  one  else,"  said  the  boy, 
still  gazing  at  the  floor. 

"I  suppose  so.  But  what  is  your  name,  my  little 
friend?" 

"My  name  is — is — that  is,  everybody  calls  me  Kid," 
stammered  the  lad,  uneasily. 

"Ah!  Yes — yes.  I  understand  that  all  right,  my 
lad.  And  so  they  call  you  Kid?  Well,  you  are  some- 
thing of  a  child;  that  name  applies  very  well.  Rather 
young  to  be  'roughing  it'  here,  I  should  think.  How  old 
are  you?" 

The  Kid  flashed  a  quick,  questioning  glance  into  the 
stranger's  face,  and,  in  an  uneasy  tone  and  in  a  voice  so 
soft  and  low  that  his  words  were  scarcely  audible,  he 
answered: 

"Sixteen." 

"Pardon  me  if  I  seem  to  be  too  inquisitive.  And  so 
you  are  staying  here,  are  you?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  have  been  here  about  six  months,"  the 
Kid  replied. 

"Working  in  the  mines?"  asked  the  stranger  with  a 
questioning  emphasis. 

"No,"  replied  the  Kid.  "I  tried  it,  but  I  could  not 
stand  it.  It  was  too  hard  work  for  me.  I  have  been 
working  at  the  Casino  for  a  few  days." 

"Rather  a  bad  place  for  you,  Kid." 

"I  know  it,    and  I  would   never  go  there  again   if  I 


38  FALSELY   ACCUSED. 

could  help  it;  but  I  ha  e  to  work  or  starve,  and  I  can't 
get  work  anywhere  else  now,"  replied  the  Kid,  decidedly. 

"I  should  think  that  one  could  find  plenty  of  work 
anywhere  here." 

"Yes, "  replied  the  Kid,  bitterly.  "There  is  plenty 
of  work,  but  no  one  will  employ  me  now." 

"No  one  will  employ  you?"  questioned  the  stranger. 

"No,"  replied  the  lad,   and  again  his  face  crimsoned. 

"Ah,  well!"  said  the  stranger,  as  he  noticed  the  boy's 
confusion  and  his  hesitating  and  reluctant  manner.  "It 
may  be  that  I  ought  not  to  question  you  too  much;  but 
you  look  like  an  honest  boy,  and,  since  we  have  been 
thrown  together  as  we  have,  I  feel  a  little  interested  in 
you.  I  maybe  wrong  in  my  judgment,  but  it  strikes  me 
that  you  are  a  little  out  of  your  proper  element  here. 
Perhaps  a  friend  would  not  come  amiss." 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  lad,  and  he  raised  his  head 
proudly  now — all  trace  of  shame  and  hesitancy  gone.  "I 
will  tell  you  why  they  won't  hire  me  to  work.  It  's  be- 
cause they  say  that  I  am  a  thief,  and  they  won't  trust 
me." 

"But  is  it  true?" 

"True?"  echoed  the  boy,  and  his  wide,  blue  eyes 
flashed  with  indignation.  "True?  O  God!  I  suppose 
that  it  must  be,  for  everybody  says  so,  and  the  Judge  gave 
me  five  months!"  And  then,  burying  his  face  in  his 
hands,  the  lad  burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 

For  a  few  moments  the  stranger  remained  silent,  eye- 
ing the  weeping  boy  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  whether  the 
Judge's  sentence  had  been  misplaced.  He  was  saying  to 
himself: 


TOM'S    INTERROGATORIES.  39 

"A  thief?  Can  it  be  possible?  I  never  saw  a  more 
honest-looking  boy  in  my  life.  A  thief?  No!  I  don't 
believe  it.  There  's  something  wrong.  This  boy  has 
enemies  here,  who  are  trying  to  injure  him  for  some 
reason." 

Then  he  said  aloud  to  the  Kid:  "And  so  they  say 
that  you  are  a  thief,  do  they?  What  was  it  they  accused 
you  of  stealing?" 

"Money,"  sobbed  the  boy. 

"And  they  really  sent  you  to  the  penitentiary  for  five 
months?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  have  been  here  six  months  since  regaining 
your  liberty,  have  you?" 

"No.  I  have  been  here  only  two  weeks  since  that;  I 
counted  that  time  in.  I  meant  that  I  had  been  in  this 
country  six  months  all  together,"  replied  the  boy. 

"Well!  Well!  If  you  were  the  only  sinner  to  be 
found  in  this  country,  it  might,  of  course,  seem  a  little 
different.  But  come,  lad;  don't  take  it  so  hard.  There's 
plenty  of  places  beside  this.  WThy  don't  you  go  some- 
where else?  Why  do  you  stay  here?" 

For  some  time  the  boy  sat  in  silence.  He  seemed  to 
be  debating  in  his  own  mind  as  to  whether  he  should  trust 
the  stranger  or  not.  Several  times  he  stole  a  quick, 
timid  glance  into  the  stranger's  face,  as  if  to  satisfy  him- 
self whether  he  should  trust  him  to  the  full  extent.  Once 
or  twice  he  seemed  upon  the  point  of  speaking;  but,  as 
if  his  courage  failed  him,  he  remained  silent. 

"My  lad,"  said  the  stranger,   in  a  low,   kind  tone,   as 


40  APPROVAL. 


he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  Kid's  bowed  head,  "I  appre- 
ciate your  good  judgment — a  judgment  which  many 
older  heads  lack — in  hesitating  to  confide  in  a  stranger. 
No  doubt  there  are  many  people  here  who,  if  they  only 
knew  and  understood  you,  would  gladly  befriend  you;  for 
there  are  plenty  of  honest  men  here,  though  they  may 
appear  rough  and  uncouth  to  you.  And  if  you  understood 
the  ways  of  the  world  better,  you  might  know  where  to 
look  for  them.  But  as  it  is,  my  lad,  you  do  well  in  being 
cautious  about  whom  you  make  a  confidant.  Let  me 
give  you  a  little  advice;  you  will  find  it  to  be  good: 
Wherever  you  may  go,  shun  all  such  men  as  Faro  Bill, 
the  keeper  of  that  gambling  den,  the  Casino,  and  their 
associates.  They  may  talk  very  nicely  to  you;  they  may 
make  you  flattering  promises;  and,  outwardly,  they  may 
appear  to  be  gentlemen.  But  beneath  their  fair  exterior 
"they  are  as  black  as  Hades.  This  may  be  a  little  too 
strong  language  for  you,  my  lad,  but  it 's  a  failing  I  have 
— I  use  strong  language  sometimes.  Some  day  you  may 
know  me  better;  then,  perhaps,  you  may  be  less  afraid 
to  trust  me." 

"O  sir!  I  am  not  afraid  to  trust  you  now,"  said  the 
lad,  earnestly,  as  he  looked  straight  into  the  honest  gray 
eyes  of  the  stranger.  "I  believe  you  are  a  friend  to  me, 
and  perhaps  you  can  help  me." 

"Depend  upon  it,  my  little  friend;  I  will  help  you  if 
I  can.  If  you  are  in  trouble— and  I  certainly  think  you 
are — I  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  aid  you.  Tell  me  what 
your  trouble  is;  let  me  know  all  about  it,  that  I  can  the 


NAME    WITHHELD. 


better  decide  what  is  best  to  do.     But  first  tell  me  your 
name." 

Again  the  boy's  eyes  sought  the  ground,  and  a  deep 
blush  suffused  his  cheek.  But  in  another  moment  this 
color  had  vanished,  and  he  stood  pale  and  trembling  be- 
fore the  questioner's  penetrating  gaze. 

"What  is  the 
matter,  boy?  Are 
you  sick?"  asked 
the  stranger,  anx- 
iously. 

"OGod!"  cried 
the  lad,  in  evi- 
dent despair.  "I 
can't  tell!  I  can't! 

^M  A  0       Drive   me    away, 

&J"  !    if  you  will;  curse 

me,  as  they  all 
have  done.  But  I 
can't  tell;  I  can't. 
OGod!  It  is  hard 
— it  is  hard!" 

"You  can't  tell 
mean?"  asked   the 


"O  GOD!     I  CAN  'T  TELL." 


Is   that    what 


you 


me  your  name? 
stranger. 

"Yes — yes.  Don't  blame  me,  sir,  for  you  have  been 
so  kind.  Oh,  it  is  hard  to  forfeit  your  friendship  now, 
for  I  hoped  for  so  much — too  much.  Let  me  go,  please!" 

"Not  so!  You  have  not  forfeited  my  friendship,  Kid. 
Sit  down  and  hear  me,  for  I  am  not  done  with  you  yet. 


42  JUST    PLAIN    TOM. 


If  you  have  any  good  reason — and  surely  you  must  have, 
or,  at  least,  think  you  have — why,  just  don't  tell  me.  It 
is  all  right.  But  tell  me  your  story,  or  as  much  of  it  as 
you  possibly  can,  so  that  I  may  the  better  understand 
what  needs  to  be  done." 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  ought  not  to  ask  you  to  help  me 
now,"  said  the  boy,  doubtfully. 

"You  need  not  hesitate  on  account  of  your  refusal  to 
tell  me  your  name.  Tell  me  your  trouble;  then  I  can 
judge  you  better.  We  will  then  see  what  we  can  do." 

This  was  spoken  by  the  stranger  in  a  tone  which  was 
kind  and  reassuring. 

"I  will  tell  you  all,  except  my  name.  And  may  God 
help  me  if  I  forfeit  your  friendship!" 

"Never  fear  that,  ray  lad — shake!"  said  the  stranger, 
and  he  grasped  the  lad's  hands  in  his  vise-like  grip. 
"Shake!  Now  we  are  friends!  Now  you  can  trust  me 
— can  tell  me  your  story." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"You  can  call  me  Tom.      My  name  is  Tom  Weston." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Wes — 

"No — no!  Don't  call  me  that.  Call  me  Tom;  just 
plain  Tom — that  is  all." 

"Thank  you,  Tom,"  murmured  Kid. 


'  'SHE  WAS  PROSTRATED  BY  A  SEVERE  ILLNESS. 
—44— 


THE    KID'S    STORY.  45 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE    KID    UNCLASPS    HIS    HEART. 

"Now,"  said  Tom,   "we  will  hear  your  story." 

"I  will  be  as  brief  as  possible,"  said  the  Kid. 

"Two  years  ago  my— Mr.  John  Beaty  came  here 
from  Kansas.  He  lived  near  Kirwin.  He  was  a  farmer, 
and,  as  the  drought  and  grasshoppers  had  destroyed  his 
crops,  compelling  him  to  mortgage  his  farm,  he  was 
obliged  to  go  away  to  find  work.  He  and  one  of  his 
neighbors,  James  Madison,  came  out  here  together. 
They  worked  here  in  the  mines  all  Summer,  and  did  so 
well  that  they  concluded  to  stay  through  the  Winter  and 
prospect,  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  thing  themselves. 
They  were  very  fortunate,  for  they  discovered  a  rich 
mine.  Mr.  Beaty  worked  his  mine  all  Summer,  and  he 
made  enough  out  of  it  to  pay  off  the  mortgage  on  his 
farm.  In  the  Autumn — last  Autumn — he  sold  his  mining 
property  for  $200,000,  and  started  for  home.  That  was 
the  last  we  heard  of  him. 

"When  he  did  not  come,  as  we  expected,  we  wrote, 
but  could  get  no  answer.  Then  we  wrote  to  Jim  Madi- 
son, but  for  a  long  time  we  could  get  no  answer  from 
him.  Finally  a  detective  was  employed  to  look  up  the 
missing  man,  but  he  could  learn  nothing  about  the  case. 
After  this  Jim  .wrote,  telling  us  that  Mr.  Beaty  had  left 
there  and  started  for  home  all  right;  that,  if  he  had  not 
returned,  something  must  have  happened  to  him  on  the 
road  home.  But  the  detective  said  that  he  never  reached 


46 


TOM    SEEKS    LIGHT. 


the  railroad,  and,  as  near  as  he  could  learn,  though  no 
evidence  could  be  obtained  of  any  one's  guilt,  Mr.  Beaty 
had  been  waylaid  and  probably  murdered  the  very  same 
night  he  received  the  money  for  his  mine;  for  he  had  dis- 
appeared that  night,  and  it  was  supposed  that  he  had 
gone  home. 

"We  sold  the  farm  to  get  money  to  carry  on  the 
search,  and  when 
that  was  gone 
there  was  but  lit- 
tle else  that  we 
could  do. 

"Mrs.  Beaty 
worried  so  much 
over  the  uncer- 
tainty of  her  hus- 
band's fate  that 
she  was  prostrat- 
ed by  a  severe  ill- 
ness, from  which 
she  died;  and  I 
came  here  to  see 
what  I  could  do." 

"Have  you  learned  anything  since  you  came  here?" 
asked  Tom. 

"No,"  replied  the  boy. 

"Does  any  one  know  your  business  here?" 

"No;   I  think  not — not  one." 

"And  this  man,  Jim  Madison — where  is  he?     Do  you 
know  ?" 


"JiM  WROTE  AND  TOLD  Us." 


JIM    MADISON.  47 


'  'He  was  staying  at  the  Casino.  He  had  been  stay- 
ing there  ever  since  I  came  here  till  a  few  days  ago.  1 
don't  know  where  he  js  now." 

"And  he  was  there  before  you  were  sent  to  the  peni- 
tentiary, was  he?  Did  he  have  anything  to  do  with  send- 
ing you  there?" 

"No;  I  don't  think  that  he  did." 

"Did  he  offer,  or  seem  willing,  to  help  you  in  any 
manner?" 

"No.      He  did  n't  know  me." 

"Ah!     You  are  in  disguise,  are  you?"  asked  Tom. 

"Yes." 

"Is  this  all  that  you  know  which  will  aid  us?  Is  n't 
there  something  more  that  you  can  tell?" 

"Nothing  that  I  can  think  of,"  answered  the  Kid. 

"What  about  this  Jim  Madison?  What  sort  of  a  fel- 
low was  he?  You  were,  if  I  mistake  not,  acquainted 
with  him." 

"Yes.  I  was  acquainted  with  him.  Mr.  Beaty's  folk 
spoke  well  of  him,  and  they  thought  he  was  a  nice  fellow; 
but  I  never  liked  him,"  said  the  Kid. 

And  there  was  a  look  of  uneasiness  upon  the  boy's 
face  as  he  answered  Tom's  questions  concerning  himself 
and  Jim  Madison — a  fact  which  did  not  escape  Tom's 
observation. 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that,  possibly,  this  Jim 
Madison  might  have  had  some  thing  to  do  with  the  disap- 
pearance of  Mr.  Beaty?"  asked  Tom. 

"Yes — no.  I — I  don't  know.  I  could  n't  find  out 
anything,"  said  the  boy,  haltingly. 


48  A    MYSTERY. 


"You  think,  though,  that  he  might  have  had.  Were 
you  and  he  intimately  acquainted  with  one  another?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Kid.  And  again  his  embarrass- 
ment manifested  itself  in  a  deep  blush. 

"How  long  had  you  been  acquainted  with  him  before 
you  came  here — or  before  he  came  here,  I  mean?" 

"About  a  year."  replied  the  Kid. 

"Why  did  n't  you  go  to  him  and  ask  him  to  help  you, 
if  you  did  n't  suspect  him  of  having  some  thing  to  do  with 
the  disappearance  of  Mr.  Beaty?"  asked  Tom. 

"I — I  thought  that — that  I  had  better  not.  I  did  n't 
like  to — ask — to  go  to  him,"  stammered  the  lad. 

"You  don't  want  to  tell  me  why." 

"I  can't." 

"Ah!"  mused  Tom.  "Here  's  difficulty.  Here  's  a 
mystery.  There  's  some  thing  about  this,  or  more  likely 
about  the  boy,  that  he  won't  tell  me."  Then  he  said, 
kindly: 

"Well — well!  It  don't  matter.  But,  now,  what  do 
you  propose  to  do?  What  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"I  want  to  find  out  what  has  become  of  Mr.  Beaty," 
he  replied. 

"And  punish  the  murderers,"  suggested  Tom. 

"Yes — of  course." 

"The  property  can  be  recovered,  too,  I  think — or,  at 
least,  a  part  of  it." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  the  boy,  doubtfully. 

"Certainly.  You  can  recover  what  they  have  not 
squandered,"  declared  Tom. 

"Would  you  help  me  to  detect  the  murderers  and 


TOM    DECLINES    REWARD.  49 

punish  them  for  what  property  we  may  be  able  to  recov- 
er?" asked  the  boy,  eagerly. 

"That  would  be  a  pretty  large  reward,  I  think.  Don't 
you?" 

"No.  It  will  suit  me.  Perhaps  we  won't  be  able  to 
recover  any  thing.  If  I  had  money,  I  would  pay  you  for 
helping  me;  but  I  have  not.  This  is  the  best  that  I 
can  do." 

"I  would  n't  take  the  money.  It  's  not  money  that 
I  want.  It  's  a  rather  doubtful  case,  but  I  will  help  you. 
There  are  a  few  things,  however,  which  I  will  need  to 
know.  They  are  connected  wtth  this  case,  and  I  must 
find  out  all  I  can  about  it. 

"I  believe  that  this  Jim  Madison  had  something  to  do 
with  this  affair.  Now,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  you 
know  about  him — just  what  kind  of  a  fellow  he  is.  I 
can  then  form  some  idea  of  how  to  work  him.  Tell  me 
how  he  came  to  be  so  intimate  with  your  family — Mr. 
Beaty's  family,  I  should  have  said;  for  I  don't  know  that 
you  belong  to  his  family.  Tell  me  all  that  you  know." 

"He  was  a  neighbor,  and  used  to  come  to  Mr.  Beaty's 
quite  often." 

"Was  a  girl  there?"  interrupted  Tom. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Kid.  "There  was  a  girl  in  the 
family.  He  came  there  to  see  her,  I  suppose." 

"Ah!  There  's  a  little  romance  attached  to  this,  too. 
It  might  be  interesting,  and  advantageous  as  well,  to 
know  if  this  girl — or,  rather,  if  you  were  interested  in 
this  girl.  But  you  can  do  as  you  please  about  telling 
that  part  of  it.  She  was  young  and  pretty,  I  suppose?" 


5O  SEEKING    A    MOTIVE. 

"People  said  that  she  was, "  replied  the  boy.  *  'I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I  was  interested  in  the  girl. " 

"Was  there  any  objection  on  the  part  of  the  parents 
to  Jim's  attentions  to  her?" 

"No;  they  were  willing." 

"And  upon  her  part?"  queried  Tom. 
"She  did  not  like  him." 

"If  there  was  no  objection  upon  the  father's  part  that 
would  make  him  desire  revenge,  that  certainly  could  have 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  declared  Tom. 

"No;  it  could  n't  have  been  that." 

"You  say  that  he  owned  a  mine  which  adjoined  Mr. 
Beaty's?" 

"Yes,  and  he  sold  out  at  the  same  lime  that  Mr. 
Beaty  did." 

"Do  you  know  whether  he  ever  drinks,  or  gambles, 
or  any  thing  of  that  sort?" 

"Since  coming  here,  I  have  learned  that  he  does," 
replied  the  boy. 

"Are  you  a  relative  of  Mr.  B — but  I  won't  ask  you 
that."  And  for  a  few  minutes  he  sat  musing  upon  what 
the  boy  had  told  him. 

"Ah,  well!"  he  mused.  "There  's  a  mystery  here 
other  than  that  surrounding  the  disappearance  of  this 
man.  Well,  time  will  reveal  it." 

Time  reveals  a  great  many  things — things  that  we  are 
not  expecting;  things  that  we  would  not  have  revealed 
and  things  that  we  would.  And  time  revealed  this — the 
mystery  surrounding  this  boy;  and,  in  doing  so,  revealed 
some  thing  that  Tom  did  not  suspect.  A  very  agreeable 


'HE  BADE  THE  KID  REST  EASY,  AND  WENT  OUT." 
—52— 


A    BROTHERHOOD    FORMED.  53 

revelation  it  was,  to  be  sure;  nevertheless  it  was  alto- 
gether unexpected.  But  this  is  as  it  should  be.  For,  if 
we  could  see — if  we  could  anticipate — what  is  in  store 
for  us,  we  would  see  many  things  corning  that  we  would 
rather  not  see. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


A    BOND    OF    FRIENDSHIP    AND    A    PLAN    OF   BUSINESS. 

For  a  long  time  Tom  Weston  sat  in  silence,  ponder- 
ing over  what  the  Kid  had  told  him;  then,  looking  up, 
he  said: 

"Kid,  I  have  a  plan.  You  and  I  will  be  brothers. 
We  will  fit  out  here  and  go  to  prospecting.  I  have  got 
money  enough  to  last  us  for  a  while;  and,  when  that  is 
gone,  I  know  where  I  can  get  more.  Now,  the  very  first 
thing  that  I  want  to  do  is  to  find  Jim  Madison.  Of 
course,  you  don't  want  to  let  him  know  you.  After  we 
find  him,  we  will  then  do  some  thing  else. 

"But  it  is  getting  late,  and  you  are  tired  and  sleepy. 
You  will  stay  with  me.  You  will  be  safe  here.  It  may 
be  that  no  one  suspects  any  thing  of  your  motive  in  being 
here;  then,  again,  they  may.  I  believe  that  Faro  Bill 
and  Jim  Madison  are  watching  you,  and  that  is  why  they 
want  to  keep  you  there.  But  we  will  wait  till  morning 
before  we  undertake  to  do  anything." 

He  began  undoing  a  bundle  of  blankets.  Having 
finished  making  the  bed,  he  continued: 

"There — our  nest  is  ready.      Not  quite   as  comfort- 


54  UNDER    TENT. 


able,  perhaps,  as  you  get  at  the  Casino;  but  it  is  safer- 
far  safer — for  you,  Kid.  Just  pull  off  your  boots  and 
coat  and  put  them  under  your  head  fora  pillow,  and  then 
crawl  in.  I  am  going  back  up-town,  and  won't  return 
for  an  hour,  perhaps.  But  you  will  be  safe  here.  Here 
are  a  double-barreled  shotgun  and  a  Winchester;  though, 
of  course,  you  won't  need  them." 

And,  placing  the  gun  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  within 
easy  reach  of  the  Kid,  he  bade  him  rest  easy  and  went 
out. 

It  was  late  in  the  night  when  he  returned;  but,  noise- 
lessly as  he  entered,  he  found  the  Kid  awake. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "you  are  alight  sleeper,  Kid." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Kid,  "I  always  hear-  every  thing 
that  is  going  on  at  night." 

"I  was  up  to  the  Casino,"  said  Tom,  "and  I  believe 
that  I  have  learned  some  thing  that  will  throw  a  little 
light  on  this  case  of  ours." 

Tom  removed  his  coat  and  boots,  which  did  service 
for  a  pillow,  and  crawled  into  bed  with  his  little  com- 
panion. 

"I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is.  That  little,  dried-up  fellow 
that  Tucson  Joe  'laid  out,'  you  may  believe,  is  just  roar- 
ing mad.  I  saw  him  up  there,  and  he  is  cussing  every 
thing  and  everybody  about  the  ranch.  I  believe  that  he 
knows  some  thing.  I  think,  from  a  remark  he  made,  he 
has  got  a  'cinch'  on  Faro  Bill.  He  was  just  cussing 
every  thing  blue,  and  he  said  if  Faro  did  n't  'ante  up'  he 
would  'blow'  on  him.  He  said  that  Faro  and  Jim — I 
don't  know  who  he  meant  by  'Jim,'  unless  it  was  Jim 


ONE-EYED    RILEY    PREDICTS   TROUBLE. 


55 


Madison — had  to  'pony  up'  before  another  day  or  he  'd 
'rise  pertic'lar  h — 1,'  as  he  expressed  it.  Possibly,  we 
may  be  able  to  do  something  with  him." 

"No — no!"  declared  Kid.  We  can  do  nothing  with 
him.  He  and  Faro  Bill  are  all  one.  He  is  mad  now, 
but  that  is  nothing  strange  for  him;  he  often  gets  that 
way.  He  will  soon  be  over  it,  and  then  they  will  be  just 
as  friendly  as  ever.  He  knew  Mr.  Beaty,  and  I  think 

that  he  knows  some  thing  about 
his  disappearance;  but  we  can't 
do  any  thing  with  him.  He  is 
the  worst  enemy  that  I  have 
got  in  this  town." 

"By  ginger,  Kid!  1  believe 
that  is  what  he  meant  by  his 
threatening  to  'blow'  on  Faro 
and  Jim.  Do  you  think  it  was 
Jim  Madison  that  he  meant  by 
'Jim'?" 

"Yes;  it  was  Jim  Madison," 
replied  Kid. 

"Then,"  declared  Tom,  "we  are  on  the  right  track! 
I  will  watch  him." 

'  'It  may  be  that  you  can  do  some  thing  with  him,  but 
I  could  not.  I  have  watched  him,  but  could  not  find  out 
any  thing. " 

"\Vhy  is  he  an  enemy  to  you?  What  have  you  done 
to  put  him  out  with  you?"  asked  Tom. 

"I  never  did  anything  to  him;  that  is  not  what  the 
trouble  is.  He  thinks  that  I  am  watching  here  to  find 


"Jusr  CUSSING  EVERYBODY." 


56  A    CLEW. 

out  some  thing  about  this  case.  He  thinks  that  I  am  a 
detective,  No — he  will  never  give  Faro  Bill  away,  if  he 
knows  anything  about  him,"  declared  the  boy,  very  em- 
phatically. 

"What  kind  of  a  man  is  he?  What  does  he  do  here?" 
asked  Tom. 

"He  is  the  worst  tempered  man  in  this  town,"  replied 
Kid.  "He  won't  do  any  thing.  He  just  stays  at  the 
Casino." 

"Well,  I  won't  keep  you  awake  any  longer.  I  be- 
lieve, though,  that  I  have  got  a  clew  that  will  lead  to 
some  thing.  We  will  follow  it  up,  anyway,  and  see." 

And,  turning  over,  he  was  soon  sleeping. 


"DROPPED  His  CUP  OF  COFFEE.' 

-58- 


A    MORNING    STROLL.  59 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE    KID    DISPLAYS    CULINARY    SKILL — TOM     WESTON    DIS- 
PLAYS   WONDER    AND    A    FINE   APPETITE. 

Morning  dawned  at  last,  and  the  Kid,  who  had  been 
awake  for  an  hour  or  more,  arose  and  went  out  to  enjoy 
the  cool  morning  air,  which  swept  down  refreshingly  from 
the  snow-capped  peaks  of  the  distant  mountains. 

It  was  a  bright,  sunny,  beautiful  morning.  The  sky 
was  perfectly  cloudless,  with  that  peculiar  murky,  hazy 
appearance  which  indicates  a  hot,  sultry  day.  The  air 
had  now  become  perfectly  calm.  Nothing  in  Nature 
seemed  to  stir — not  even  a  leaf  or  blade  of  grass;  and, 
save  only  the  hum-drum  of  the  already  busy  town,  not  a 
sound  fell  upon  the  ear  to  break  the  monotony  of  that 
dead  silence. 

The  sun,  just  peeping  above  the  eastern  hills — or, 
rather,  mountains — bathed  the  diversified  landscape  of 
barren  hills  and  sandy  plains  in  his  shimmering  rays  of 
golden  light,  which  were  fast  chasing  away  the  dark  and 
gloomy  shadows  from  their  nooks  in  the  valleys. 

"Ah!  Watching  the  sunrise,  Kid?"  came  in  a  low 
and  kindly  tone  from  behind  him. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  boy,  turning  toward  the  tent  just 
as  Tom  made  his  appearance. 

"Well,  how  do  you  feel  this  morning,  Kid?"  asked 
Tom,  holding  out  his  hand  toward  the  lad. 

"Quite  well,    I  thank  you,   Tom;  and  how  do  you 


6o 


TOM    ABHORS    COOKING. 


feel?"  rejoined  the  Kid,  placing  his  small  and  shapely 
hand,  so  soft  and  white,  in  the  broad  and  brawny  palm 
of  his  friend.  Such  a  little  hand  it  appeared,  as  it  rested 
so  confidingly  there! 

"If  you  will   show  me  where  to  get  things,  Tom,  I 
will  prepare  breakfast.    I  would  like  to  do  some  thing  for 
you  in   return   for  your   hospitality.      I  am  a  fairly  good 
cook, "  added  the  Kid, 
modestly. 

"All  right,  my 
lad,"  assented  Tom, 
eagerly.  ' 'Not  a  thing 
could  suit  me  better. 
Cooking  is  the  bane 
of  my  life.  I  hate  it! 
Beside  that,  I  am  the 
poorest  cook  on  earth 
— or  in  Heaven." 

After  this  frank 
admission  of  his  dis- 
like of  cooking  and 


his  lack  of  efficiency 
in  this  great  art,  Tom 
set  about  showing  the  Kid  where  to  find  every  article  of 
which  his  mode  of  life  and  limited  household  permitted 
the  use.  The  larder  furnished  enough  for  their  imme- 
diate wants. 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  the  Kid's  dainty  little 
hands  had  rearranged  and  put  every  thing  in  "apple-pie" 
order,  and  had  a  deliciously  cooked  meal  spread  upon  the 
top  of  the  '  'mess-box"  which  served  as  a  table. 


BARREN  HILLS  AND  SANDY  PLAINS. 


A    VENISON     BREAKFAST.  6 1 

Fresh  venison,  which  bespoke  the  hunter's  skill,  as 
well  as  quail,  and  the  lightest  and  most  toothsome  bis- 
cuits that  it  had  been  Tom's  good  fortune  to  partake  of 
since  leaving  the  table  of  his  cherished  mother,  followed 
by  coffee  just  to  his  taste.  These  comprised  the  morn- 
ing repast. 

"By  jingoes!  Kid,  you  are  a  treasure!"  exclaimed 
Tom,  gleefully.  "If  you  were  only  a  girl,  now — 

But  Tom  stopped  short  of  what  he  would  have  said; 
for,  glancing  across  the  table  at  the  crimson  cheeks  of  his 
little  companion,  who  had,  in  his  confusion,  dropped  his 
cup  of  coffee,  Tom  crammed  the  half  of  a  biscuit  into 
his  mouth  and  let  on  as  if  he  did  not  notice  the  boy's 
agitation. 

"By  thunder!  Kid,  these  are  the  most  delicious  bis- 
cuits I  have  ever  tasted!"  declared  the  mystified  Tom, 
who  was  still  endeavoring  to  conceal  his  surprise  at  the 
Kid's  strange  behavior. 

"One  would  think,  by  your  actions,  that  you  were 
not  accustomed  to  eating  very  good  bread,"  said  the  boy, 
busying  himself  in  arranging  the  table,  in  order  to  con- 
ceal his  confusion. 

"Fact,  too,  Kid!"  declared  Tom,  emphatically.  "I 
am  the  poorest  cook  imaginable.  Slapjacks  and  sow- 
belly is  all  that  I  know  how  to  cook." 

"I  don't  wonder,  then,  that  you  get  tired  of  your  own 
cooking,"  declared  the  lad,  no  little  amused  by  his  good 
friend's  rather  limited  culinary  accomplishments. 

"You  are  no  novice  in  this  line  of  business,  Kid, "de- 
clared Tom.  "Where  did  you  learn  to  cook?" 


62  TOM'S  PLAN. 


"All  I  know  about  cooking  I  learned  at  home,"  said 
the  suddenly  developed  chef,  intently  engaged  with  a 
slice  of  venison. 

"Tell  you  what,  Kid,"  exclaimed  Tom,  abruptly.  "I 
have  been  prospecting  for  two  months  up  north  of  here, 
in  the  mountains,  and  I  have  struck  a  lead  which,  I  am 
confident,  will  prove  to  be  rich.  I  came  down  here  for 
supplies  and  to  see  if  I  could  find  some  one  to  go  up  there 
with  me.  I  don't  like  to  stay  alone.  You  see,  I  can't 
cook  and  do  the  other  work,  too.  Beside,  it 's  too  lone- 
some. 

"Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  '11  do.  Just  as  soon  as 
we  get  through  with  this  work  here,  we  will  go  back  there 
and  open  up  that  mine.  You  can  do  the  hunting  and 
cooking,  and  I  will  do  the  mining;  and  we  will  divide  the 
spoils.  What  do  you  say?  Will  you  do  it?" 

"I — I  don't  know.  I  am  afraid  I  can  't.  I  would  like 
to,  if  it  would  help  you,"  replied  the  Kid,  doubtfully. 

"Afraid  that  you  can  't?  What!  Not  for  the  pros- 
pect— aye,  the  certainty — of  finding  a  fortune?"  And 
Tom  stared  in  evident  wonder. 

"I — don't  know — I  would  like  to,"  said  the  boy.  "I 
will  if  I  can,  but— 

"But  nothing!"  interrupted  Tom.  "You  certainly 
can,  if  you  will.  There  can  be  no  question  about  that. 
But,  of  course,  we  will  do  all  that  we  possibly  can  here 
before  we  go.  We  will  straighten  up  this  matter.  We 
will  next  purchase  whatever  supplies  we  may  need,  and 
go  up  there  and  finish  my  work.  I  will  help  you  out  and 
you  can  help  me  out.  An  even  exchange — see?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  lad,   doubtfully. 


'THE  BED  WAS  EMPTY." 
-64- 


ONE    THING    ACCOMPLISHED.  65 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


TOM    WESTON,    BEING     PUZZLED,     WATCHES     THE    KID    AND 
DOES    SOME    PONDERING. 

Six  days  had  now  passed  since  the  eventful  meeting 
of  the  Kid  and  Tom  Weston.  Yet  nothing  had  been 
accomplished.  Nothing?  No;  that  is  not  strictly  true. 
For  a  close  and  lasting  friendship  had  sprung  up  between 
them — a  friendship  that  was  destined  to  ripen  into  a  still 
closer  union  and  be  more  lasting  than  Tom,  at  least,  had 
ever  dreamed  of. 

Great-hearted  Tom  loved  the  boy  with  all  his  heart, 
and  entertained  for  him  a  feeling  of  the  deepest  sympa- 
thy in  his  almost  hopeless  task.  So  brave,  so  dauntless 
and  persevering,  he  appealed  to  the  strong  man's  heart 
and  drew  it  to  him. 

But  there  was  a  mystery  about  his  little  companion 
that  Tom  could  not  solve.  Often  had  he  lain  still  and 
watched  the  boy  as  he  went  about  his  work,  always  with 
a  sad,  wishful  expression  upon  his  handsome  face  that 
greatly  puzzled  Tom.  So  slight  of  form,  graceful,  and 
as  supple  in  movement  as  an  athlete,  he  moved  about 
with  step  as  light  and  touch  as  gentle  as  that  of  any 
woman. 

"Kid, "said  Tom,  one  day,  as  he  lay  watching  the 
lad,  "I  believe  that  you  are  the  most  patient  fellow  I  ever 
saw.  How  do  you  do  it,  anyhow?  I  would  like  to  know." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Tom,"  he  replied.  "Perhaps  it 
is  because  I  have  learned  better  than  to  be  impatient.  I 


66  SILENCE    RATHER   THAN   FALSEHOOD. 

have  learned  a  few  things  since  I  came  here,  and  I  also 
learned  a  few  things  while  I  was  at  the  penitentiary." 

"What  did  you  do  while  you  were  there?"  asked  Tom. 
"I  worked,"  replied  the  boy,  evasively. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so — of  course.  But  what  did  you 
work  at?"  persisted  Tom. 

"O  Tom!"  cried  the  lad,  in  distress.  "I  can't — I — I 
don't — I  can't  tell!  Please,  Tom,  don't  be  angry  at  me! 
I  can't  tell!  I  will  tell  you  some  time,  Tom;  but  I  can't 
now!" 

"Why  don't  you  tell  me  some  thing,  anyway,  and  let 
it  go  at  that?  I  would  never  know  the  difference,"  sug- 
gested Tom. 

"What!  Tell  you  some  thing  that  is  n't  true?"  cried 
the  Kid,  with  an  air  of  surprise.  "O  Tom!  I  could  n't 
do  that!  I  won't  lie!" 

"Well,  we  won't  say  any  thing  more  about  that.  If 
I  ask  you  any  thing  that  you  can't  tell — why,  just  refuse 
to  answer  me;  that  's  all.  But  without  changing  the 
subject  very  much,  Kid,  have  you  ever  heard  any  thing 
about  this  phantom  horseman  who  rides  in  Dead  Man's 
Canyon?" 

"Yes.  I  have  heard  of  it."  And  the  Kid  shuddered 
and  his  cheek  paled. 

"Why  did  you  never  say  any  thing  about  it,  Kid?" 
asked  Tom. 

"I  did  n't  like  to  speak  of  it,  Tom.  I  don't  like  to 
tell  ghost  stories,"  replied  the  boy,  nervously. 

"Do  you  believe  in  ghosts?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Don't  laugh  at  me,  Tom,  for  I 
can't  help  it!"  pleaded  the  boy. 


THE    PHANTOM    HORSEMAN. 


"I  have  a  notion  to  investigate  this  phantom  business 
and  see  what  it  is,  anyway,"  said  Tom. 
"Who  was  telling  you  about  it,  Tom?" 
"I  heard  about  it  today  at  the  Casino.      Some  one 
saw  the  ghost  last  night.    They  say  that  it  appears  every 
night  now;  but,    of  course,  it  is  all  nonsense,"  declared 
Tom. 

A  few  days   after  the  conversation   recorded  above, 

Tom  came  home 
from  town  late 
one  dark,  stormy 
night,  when  he 
had  been  watch- 
ing the  move- 
ments of  Faro 
Bill  and  his  pals, 
and,  after  crawl- 
ing in  his  "nest," 
as  he  termed  it, 
which  was  made 
close  beside  the 
boy's,  and  satis- 
fying himself  that 
he  could  not  go 
to  sleep,  he  mut- 
tered with  determination: 

"No  use!  I  just  can  't  sleep!  I  may  as  well  go  to- 
night as  any  time." 

And  out  of  bed  he  got,  dressed  and  picked  up  his 
trusty  Winchester.  After  examining  it  closely,  he  started 
for  the  door. 


'Mv  GOD!     HE  HAS  BEEN  KIDNAPED!" 


68  "    FOREBODINGS. 


"Where  are  you  going,  Tom?"  called  the  Kid. 

"Oh,  I  am  going  to  investigate  that  phantom  horse- 
man," laughed  Tom. 

"I  wish  you  would  n't  go,  Tom,"  pleaded  the  Kid. 
"I  am  afraid.  I  feel  as  though  some  thing  will  happen. 
Please  don't  go." 

"Nonsense,  Kid!     You  are  nervous." 

"I  hope  that  it  's  nothing  worse." 

"It  can  't  be." 

"But  if  you  are  determined  to  go,  Tom,  let  me  go, 
too,"  implored  the  Kid. 

"No — no,  Kid.  You  can  't  go  out  in  this  storm.  But 
don't  be  afraid.  Nothing  will  happen,  and  I  will  be  back 
before  long." 

"But  what  has  started  you  out  tonight,  Tom?  Have 
you  heard  any  thing  more  about  it?" 

"Yes;  but  I  won't  tell  you  about  it  now.  Wait  until 
I  get  back.  Then  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"Tom,  come  and  sit  down  beside  me  just  a  little 
while  before  you  go.  I  am  so  nervous.  You  will  think 
that  I  am  very  foolish,  I  know;  but  I  can  't  help  it,  Tom. 
Take  my  hand  in  yours,  Tom;  you  are  so  strong  and 
brave,  and  it  makes  me  feel  better."  After  a  long  pause 
the  excited  lad  resumed: 

"Do  you  know,  Tom,  I  believe  that  phantom  horse- 
man is  in  some  way  connected  with  this  work  we  are 
doing  here?  I  don't  know  what  makes  me  think  so — or, 
rather,  feel  so — for  I  seem  to  feel  it  rather  than  think  it; 
but  I  do,  and  I  can  't  help  it." 

"I  don't  like  to  talk  to  you  about  this  tonight,  Kid," 


ALONE.  69 

said  Tom;  "for  you  are  too  nervous.  But  I  will  say  this 
much:  If  there  is  any  truth  in  this  story — which  I  do 
not  credit  for  a  moment — it  may  lead  us  to  some  thing 
or  other." 

"Then  you  think  as  I  do,  Tom.  You  believe  that  it 
is  connected  with  our  work  here. " 

"I  don't  like  to  say  that,  Kid,"  said  Tom. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,  Tom;  don't  try  to  deceive  me.  I 
know  that  you  think  so;  you  do  believe  it,"  declared  the 
boy. 

"Do  you  feel  better  now,   Kid?"  asked  Tom. 

"Yes.  Thank  you,  Tom;  you  may  go  now,  if  you 
really  must." 

"Well,  good-by.      I  won't  be  gone  long." 

In  a  few  moments  he  was  on  his  way  toward  Dead 
Man's  Canyon.  But  if  the  phantom  horseman  rode  that 
night  Tom  Weston  did  not  see  him. 

After  walking  through  the  canyon  and  back  without 
seeing  any  thing,  and  feeling  a  bit  conscience-stricken  at 
leaving  his  little  friend  alone  as  he  had,  he  decided  to 
postpone  his  interview  with  the  ghostly  rider  and  return 
home  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Somehow,  an  uneasy  feeling  crept  over  him  as  Tom 
turned  down  toward  the  grassy  plot  where  his  lonely  lit- 
tle tent  gleamed  white  and  ghost-like  in  the  darkness. 
Just  why  he  felt  so  nervous  he  could  not  tell,  nor  why  he 
quickened  his  pace. 

Eagerly,  and  with  trembling  hand,  he  raised  the  flap 
which  served  as  a  door  and  called:  "Kid!" 

But  there  was  no  answer. 


7O  KIDNAPED. 


Hastily  lighting  a  match,  he  looked  around.  The 
Kid's  "nest"  was  empty.  No  sign  of  a  struggle — nothing 
to  indicate  what  had  become  of  the  boy. 

For  a  moment  this  brave,  resolute  and  self-possessed 
man  stood  bewildered  and  completely  at  a  loss  as  to  what 
to  do.  Utterly  confounded,  he  could  neither  think  nor 
act. 

"My  God!"  he  cried,  sinking  down  on  the  bed  and 
striving  to  collect  his  scattered  wits.  "He  is  gone!  He 
has  been  kidnaped!" 


CHAPTER   IX. 


ONE-EYED     RILEY     DRAINS    A    GLASS    AND     SOUNDS    A    NOTE 
OF    WARNING. 

For  some  time  after  Tom  Weston's  appearance  in 
Las  Animas  and  his  rather  unceremonious  introduction 
to  the  "Bad  Man  from  Bitter  Creek,"  he  was  looked  on 
by  some  as  a  sort  of  hero,  while  by  others  he  was  regard- 
ed as  a  man  to  be  Jet  severely  alone. 

To 'say  that  Tucson  Joe  was  severely  whipped  would 
be  putting  it  very  mildly.  He  was  completely  "laid  out," 
"paralyzed,"  "dumfusticated,"  "chewed  up  and  spat 
out."  At  least,  these  are  samples  of  the  expressions 
which  the  people  of  the  town  applied  to  his  case. 

"When  a  man  is  whipped — why,  he  's  whipped;  an' 
that  's  the  eend  on  V  growled  Tucson  Joe.  But  deep 
down  in  his  heart,  if  he  had  a  heart — and  I  very  much 
doubt  if  he  had,  for  he  was  never  known  to  do  a  kind  act 


'!T  WAS  THE  PHANTOM  HORSEMAN!' 
—71— 


A    NEW    PARD.  73 


or  say  a  kind  word  to  any  one — he  vowed  that  some  day 
he  would  "get  even"  with  his  vanquisher. 

But  it  is  not  so  much  what  Tucson  Joe  said  or  did 
that  interests  us  most  at  present,  but  rather  what  some 
others  had  to  say. 

Several  days  after  the  little  episode  mentioned  above 
One-Eyed  Riley,  the  "diminutive  specimen"  whom  Tuc- 
son Joe  had  so  horizontally  flattened  out  just  before  the 
introduction  of  Tom  Weston,  came  into  Faro  Bill's  "pri- 
vate office,"  and,  pouring  himself  a  glass  of  whisky,  said, 
after  gulping  the  "fiery  dew": 

"Peers  tew  me,  Faro,  that  ther  Kid's  picked  up  a  new 
pard." 

"Picked  up  a  new  pard?  Why,  what  do  you  mean, 
Beauty?"  asked  Bill. 

"I  '11  'booty'  ye — ye  white-livered,  pot-bellied  beer 
tub!  I  mean  jest  what  I  say;  an'  yer  '11  find  it  out  soon 
enough,  too,  I  reckon,  if  yer  don't  mind  yer  eye!" 

"Who  is  it,  Riley — this  new  pard  of  the  Kid's?' 
asked  Faro  Bill. 

"It  's  that  young  Hercules  as  what  laid  out  Tucson 
Joe,"  said  One-Eyed  Riley.  Then  he  shook  his  little  fists 
and  cursed  and  raged  in  the  wildest  fury  at  his  own  bare 
mention  of  the  Bad  Man  from  Bitter  Creek. 

"I  tell  yer,  Bill,  that  ther  Kid  means  mischief.  It  's 
my  opine  that  yer  have  pos'poned  his  takin'-off  a  leetle 
tew  long  fer  yer  own  benefit,  pussonally  speakin'.  He  's 
as  sharp  as  ther  devil — he  is;  an'  I  tole  yer  all  'long  that 
he  needed  tendin'  tew.  'Stead  of  takin'  my  'dvice,  yer've 
been  harb'ring  of  him  an'  a-nussin'  him  here.  But  when 


74 


THE    DIMINUTIVE    SPECIMEN. 


the  right  time  comes  he  '11  turn  like  a  viper  an'  down  ye 
wusser  'n  that  young  gent  downed  Tucson  Joe.  Mark  my 
word,  Faro  Bill:  That  Kid  '11  make  yer  break  yer  in- 
fern'l  neck,  the  fust  thing  that  yer  knows  of." 

Again  the  little  man  flew  into  a  passion  and  poured 
forth  a  tirade  of  abuse  upon  the  head  of  Tucson  Joe,  and 

finally   wound  up 

by  cursing  every- 
body in  the  town, 
from  the  Mayor 
down. 

"It  appears  to 
me,  Riley,  that 
you  are  a  little  off 
your  base  today," 
said  Faro  Bill. 

"Off  'n  my 
base!"  howled  the 
"diminutive  spec- 
imen," as,  with 
one  gulp,  he  swal- 
lowed a  glass  of  fiery  liquor.  "By  ther  great  Horned 
Spoon,  yer  '11  be  off  'n  yer  base  wusser  'n  I  are  a-fore 
these  many  days,  ef  yer  don't  mind  yer  eye!" 

"Say,  Riley!     If  you  know  any  thing,  tell  it.     If  you. 
don't,  you  just  go  to  work  and  find  out  some  thing,  if  you 
can.      Keep  your  eye  on  that  Kid  and  his  pard,  and  see 
what  they  are  up  to,"  said  Faro  Bill. 

"You  would  n't  b'lieve  me  if " 


"H — SH!    WHAT  's  ALL  THAT  RACKET  ABOUT?" 


EFFICACY  OF  THE  QUIETER.  75 

"Hush!"  interrupted  Faro.  "What  's  all  that  racket 
about  in  the  bar  room?" 

"Let  's  'vestigate,"  suggested  Riley,  and  together  the 
two  arose  and  hastened  to  the  bar  room. 

Here  they  found  a  crowd  of  excited  men  gathered 
about  a  man  who  had  just  entered  the  Casino  in  such  a 
state  of  agitation  and  fear  that  for  a  time  he  was  utterly 
unable  to  speak. 

"Give  'im  a  quieter  fer  'is  nerves!"  loudly  shouted  the 
"diminutive  specimen,"  who  was  dancing  around  in  his 
excitement  as  though  he  were  possessed. 

The  "quieter,"  in  the  form  of  a  good  three  finger- 
lengths  of  Faro  Bill's  best  "distilled  extract  of  rye,"  was 
administered.  It  had  the  desired  effect  in  a  very  short 
time. 

"Spit  'er  out!"  shouted  One-Eyed  Riley. 

"Yah,  dot  ish  vot  ve  heers!"  yelled  Dutch  John,  the 
bar  tender.  "Ve  heers  dot  shtories  mit  oudt  delays." 

"Give  'im  a  nuther  snort  at  ther  horn!"  vociferated 
Riley.  "A  snort  of  real  tarantler  juice '11  fetch 'im.  Spit 
'er  out!  Spit 'er  out!  Stan' back,  gen'lemen!  Stan' back! 
He  's  gwine  ter  orate." 

"//  ivas  the  phantom  horseman!"  cried  the  excited 
man  wildly.  "I  met  him  tonight  down  in  Dead  Man's 
Canyon,  and  he  followed  me.  Gentlemen,  I  swear  that 
I  saw  the  ghost  of  old  John  Beaty — 

"Take  the  fool  away!  He  's  drunk  or  crazy!"  roared 
Faro  Bill  "Out  of  here  with  you — you  drunken  idiot!" 

"Got  py  toonder!"  thundered  Dutch  John.  "Ve 
vants  no  ghost  shtories  heer  no  more!  Effry  tay  soom- 


76  FARO  BILL   ADVISES  CAUTION. 

pody  cooms  him  mit  here  und  dells  shtories  apoudt  dose 
phattnm  horsemans  or  soompody  vot  ish  dedt.  PyChim- 
inelli  Got,  I  peliefs  dot  ish  vun  tampt  lies!" 

"See  here,  Bill!"  said  One-Eyed  Riley,  when  the  dis- 
turbance caused  by  the  excited  man  had  subsided  some- 
what. "I  've  caught  onto  a  plan.  By  the  way  things 
air  goin',  it  's  gwine  ter  get  a  leetle  tew  hot  fer  us  here 
purty  soon,  unless  somethin's  did  right  away.  I  don't 
like  this  'ere  ghost  story,  but  I  b'lieve  that  we  kin  put  it 
tew  some  use. 

"I  '11  tell  yer  what  I  carcilate  we  kin  do:  Thar  's  that 
thar  Weston — he  's  heered  all  about  this,  fer  he  's  in 
thar.  Now,  I  'low  as  how  he  '11  go  an'  'vestigate  that 
thar  phantom  business,  but  I  don't  b'lieve  that  ther  Kid 
will  go.  Sava?"  queried  Riley. 

"Sava  what,  Riley?"  asked  Bill. 

"Why,  this  'ere,  to  be  sure:  We  '11  jest  watch  the 
pair,  an'  ef  Weston  goes  out  ter  see  about  that  phantom 
business,  we  '11  go  after  that  air  Kid.  Sava  now?" 

"Ah!  Yes.  But  I  don't  know — I  don't  know  what 
we  'd  do  with  him  after  we  got  him,"  drawled  Faro  Bill, 
doubtfully. 

"Don't  know  what  ter  dew  with  'im?  Moly  Hoses! 
Put  'im  outen  ther  way,  in  course!"  hissed  the  one-eyed 
fiend. 

"But  I  tell  you,  Riley,  we  've  got  to  be  a  little  care- 
ful. We  are  already  suspected  of  having  a  hand  in  the 
disappearance  of  old  John  Beaty;  and  if  this  Kid  is  any 
of  his  kin — and  I  know  well  enough  that  he  is — and  he 
should  come  up  missing,  particular  brimstone  would  be 
to  pay!"  exclaimed  Faro  Bill. 


FARO  FACETIOUS.  77 


These  possible  complications  seemed  to  have  no  ter- 
ror for  Riley,  who  persisted: 

"But  we  've  got  ter  dew  it.  Once  we  git  a  hold  on 
'im,  we  kin  use  'im  fer  a  bait  ter  trap  Weston.  We  've 
jest  got  ter  git  rid  of  that  devil,  an'  we  've  got  ter  dew  it 
purty  quick,  tew.  Cold  lead  's  got  ter  settle  his  hash  fer 
'im!" 

"But  how  are  we  to  manage  that  part  of  it?  He  's 
got  plenty  ot  friends  here,  and  it  won't  do  for  us  to  do  it 
openly,  unless  you  want  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  him  and 
get  him  into  a  fight;  and  I  don't  think  you  want  to  do 
that!"  said  Faro,  with  a  chuckle. 

"I  sartinly  don't  want  ter  dew  nothin'  of  ther  kind," 
replied  Riley.  "But  we've  got  ter  git  ther  Kid  fust. 
Once  we  git  'im,  as  I  sedbefore,  we  kin  lure  Weston  into 
a  trap.  Once  rid  of  that  devil,  we  kin  quietus  ther  Kid. 
We  '11  kidnap  an'  take  'im  tew  ther  'Orphans'  Home,'  an' 
then  lure  Weston  thar. " 

"But  how  are  we  to  begin  this  thing?"  asked  Faro. 

"I  '11  tell  yer.  We  Ve  got  ter  git  Weston  interested 
in  this  'ere  ghost  story,  so  he  '11  go  down  thar  to  'vesti- 
gate  it.  This  is  how  we  '11  do  it:  We  '11  git  Jim  ter 
play  as  how  he  'd  seen  ther  ghost — jest  ther  same  as  that 
fool  did  out  thar;  fer  I  don't  b'lieve  that  he  saw  any  thing 
at  all.  He  jest  run  that  drive  on  us  ter  git  a  snort  of 
whisky.  I  don't  b'lieve  ther  Kid  '11  go  down  thar,  fer  he 
is  a  leetle  bit  shaky  on  that  pint,  anyhow.  Ef  Weston 
goes— an'  all  Tophet  could  n't  keep  'im  from  it — we  '11 
jump  onter  their  Kid  an'  spraddle  out." 

'  'Well,  you  arrange  it,  Riley.  Come  to  think  of  it, 
I  believe  that  is  our  best  plan,"  said  Faro. 


78  RILEY  SHADOWS  WESTON. 

Three  days  later  One-Eyed  Riley  came  into  the  "pri- 
vate office,"  all  in  a  flutter  of  excitement.  Calling  for  a 
snort  of  whisky  and  disposing  of  it  at  one  swallow,  he 
exclaimed: 

"Faro,  my  leetle  scheme  has  worked  out  better  'n  I 
ever  thought  it  would.  But  we  've  been  runnin'  this 
phantom  business  about  long  enough.  The  Kid  an'  'is 
pard  have  heard  all  about  it,  an'  Weston's  goin'  down 
thar  ter  night  ter  'vestigate.  All  we  've  got  ter  dew  is 
to  watch  an'  be  ready  when  he  goes  ter  bounce  ther  Kid. 
Ther  last  time  that  Jim  cum  in  an''  swore  as  how  he  'd 
seen  the  ghost  of  old  John  Beaty,  he  jest  put  ther  finish- 
in'  touch  onter  my  leetle  scheme.  The  Kid  wanted  ter  go 
tew,  but  Weston  would  n't  let  him;  so  we  're  all  O.  K." 

"You  are  sure  that  he  will  go,  are  you,  Riley?"  asked 
Faro,  who  displayed  considerable  uneasiness.  "We  must 
be  sure  of  this  thing — no  mistake  here!" 

"Thar  's  no  mistake.  I  saw  him  start  out;  he  's  half 
way  thar  by  this  time.  But  whar  's  Jim?" 

"Oh,  he  's  with  the  girls,  I  suppose.  That  's  where 
he  always  is  to  be  found." 

"I  '11  fetch  'im." 

Riley  immediately  set  out  on  his  search  for  Jim  Madi- 
son. After  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes  he  returned  with 
him. 

Jim  Madison,  as  we  have  already  seen,  was  a  young 
fellow  and  very  handsome,  though  he  was  quite  small  for 
a  man.  He  stood  5  feet  3  inches  in  stature,  and  was 
slim,  weighing  only  115  pounds.  He  was  familiarly 
known  as  "Masher  Jim." 


DETAILS    SETTLED.  79 

The  three  men  soon  set  out  upon  their  kidnaping  ex- 
pedition. Arriving  at  the  lone  tent,  where  the  Kid  was 
impatiently  awaiting  the  return  of  his  friend  and  pro- 
tector, and  having  convinced  themselves  that  he  was  not 
asleep,  they  paused  to  consider  the  best  plan  of  action. 

"What  shall  we  do,  Riley?"  asked  Faro  Bill.  "The 
Kid's  got  a  double-barreled  shotgun,  and  he  keeps  it  well 
loaded  with  buckshot,  too." 

"Bet  yer  life  he  has!  An'  he  knows  how  ter  use  it, 
tew!"  said  Riley.  "I  '11  tell  yer  what  we'll  dew.  I  cum 
prepared  fer  jest  this  partic'lar  'mergency.  You  fellers 
repersent  capital  and  I  repersent  brains.  Sava?  Mighty 
convenient  ter  have  somebody  ter  dew  yer  thinkin'  fer 
yer  now,  airn't  it?" 

"Yes — yes,  Beauty.  You  are  a  regular  thinking  ma- 
chine. But  let  us  know  what  your  plan  is,"  said  Jim, 
anxiously. 

"It  'sthis:  You,  Jim,  go  up  ter  ther  road,  an'  then 
cum  a-runnin'  down  ter  camp  a-shoutin'  an'  a-hollerin' 
fer  ther  Kid,  tellin'  'im  as  how  yer  met  Tom  Weston,  an" 
as  how  Tom  sent  yer  arter  ther  Kid,  an'  fer  'im  ter  cum 
with  yer  quick  an'  fetch  'im  medicine  an'  bandages  an' 
water,  as  he  's  bad  hurt  down  ter  ther  mouth  of  ther  can- 
yon. Sava?" 

"Bully  for  you,  Riley!"  said  Faro  Bill.  "You  've  got 
a  head,  if  you  ain't  got  much  of  a  body." 

"Now,  then,  commence  ter  wiggle!"  said  Riley.  "Git 
a  wiggle  onter  yer,  Jim,  fer  that  devil  of  a  Weston  may 
cum  back.  I  would  n't  give  two  cents  a  dozen  fer  yeref 
he  should  ketch  yer  here." 


80  THE    SWOOP. 


"All  right,"  said  Jim,  as  he  started  out  to  begin  his 
part  of  the  program. 

In  a  few  minutes  Jim,  who  was  chosen  because  the 
Kid  did  not  know  him  in  his  disguise,  came  running  down 
the  path  to  the  door  of  the  tent,  calling  upon  the  Kid  as 
he  came. 

"What  is  it?  What  's  the  matter?"  called  the  Kid, 
frightened  and  surprised,  as  he  came  out  of  the  tent  to 
learn  what  the  trouble  was. 

"What  is  it?  What  's  the  matter?"  echoed  Jim,  in 
well-feigned  excitement.  "He  's  nearly  killed!  He  's 
down  to  the  mouth  of  the  canyon,  and  he  sent  me  after 
you!  I  saw  him,  and  he  sent  me  here  fo-r  some  liniment 
and  bandages.  Quick!  Hurry  up,  or  he  '11  be  dead  be- 
fore we  can  get  back  there!" 

Without  a  moment's  thought  or  delay,  and  almost 
crazed  with  grief  and  fear,  the  Kid  hastily  gathered  up 
what  few  things  were  called  for,  and  with  grieving  heart, 
blanched  cheeks  and  eyes  rilling  with  tears,  he  followed 
his  guide  out  of  the  door,  where,  as  he  passed  out  all 
unsuspicious  of  treachery,  he  was  seized  by  the  strong 
arms  of  Faro  Bill.  Then  the  villainous,  one-eyed  rene- 
gade threw  a  blanket  over  the  captive's  head,  and  he  was 
completely  powerless  to  resist  or  cry  out. 

Frail  and  delicate  though  the  lad  was,  it  took  the 
united  strength  of  the  three  men  to  overcome  him.  For, 
brave  and  dauntless  as  a  hero,  he  fought  with  the  des- 
peration of  a  tiger.  Though  he  was  not  strong,  the 
awful  fear  which  seized  upon  his  heart — for  he  was  now 
fully  aroused  to  his  imminent  danger — lent  more  than  a 
man's  strength  to  his  slender  frame. 


'FooL  THAT  You  ARE!' 
—82— 


A   PRIVATE    PRISON.  83 

But  vain  were  the  Kid's  struggles.  Breathless  and 
panting,  he  was  soon  overpowered  and  dragged  away. 

A  carriage  was  in  waiting  not  far  off,  reaching  which 
he  was  hustled  in  and  driven  rapidly  away. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    KID    IS   INSTALLED   IN    THE    "ORPHANS*    HOME," — THE 
SIREN    REPULSED. 

In  half  an  hour  from  the  time  when  the  Kid  was  so 
treacherously  thrown  into  the  carriage,  it  drew  up  before 
the  door  of  a  large,  two-story  brick,  just  within  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  and  known  as  the  "Orphans'  Home." 
It  was  a  low,  disreputable  dive,  kept  by  Mile.  Laitner — 
a  character  which  we  need  not  describe. 

Here  the  lad  was  hurried  quickly  within,  where  he 
found  himself  a  prisoner,  shut  up  in  a  small  room  in  the 
center  of  the  building,  on  the  second  floor. 

Making  a  survey  of  his  prison,  he  saw  that  the  room 
contained  but  one  door,  and  no  windows  at  all,  except  a 
small  skylight  in  the  center  of  the  ceiling,  through  which 
he  might  catch  glimpses  of  the  sun  by  day  and  of  the 
stars  by  night. 

For  six  days  the  Kid  had  seen  no  one  but  the  "lady 
of  the  house,"  as  she  styled  herself.  But  now  One-Eyed 
Riley  came.  He  was  at  all  times  the  very  embodiment 
of  ill-nature,  but  on  this  occasion  he  seemed  to  have  no 
particular  business,  unless  it  was  to  torment  the  poor  lad 
by  his  hideous  presence. 


84 


ENAMORED. 


But  the  Kid  had  no  great  reason  to  complain  of  the 
treatment  which  he  received.  In  truth,  beyond  the  fact 
that  he  was  a  prisoner  and  was  not  permitted  to  leave  his 
room,  there  was  nothing  in  particular  of  which  he  could 
justly  complain,  unless  it  was  the  (to  him)  disgusting  and 
abhorrent  attention 
of  Mile.  Laitner  to 
the  handsome  youth. 

"Why  won't  you 
let  me  go  away  from 
here,  if  you  love  me 
as  you  say  you  do?" 
demanded  the  Kid, 
one  day,  in  answer  to 
some  things  that  the 
siren  had  said  to  him. 

"Why  won't  I  let 
you  go?"  she  repeated, 
in  open-mouthed  as- 
tonishment. "Why 
won't  I  let  you  go, 
indeed!  Ah!  It  would 
be  as  much  as  my  life 
is  worth — perhaps  more — to  do  that!" 

"Do  you  know  who  it  was  that  brought  me  here?" 
asked  the  boy. 

"Do  I  know  who  it  was?     Why,  of  course  I  do!" 

"Who  was  it — who  were  they?" 

"Faro  Bill,  Masher  Jim  and  One-Eyed  Riley,"  she 
answered. 


MLLE.  LAITNER. 


THE     SIREN     REPULSED.  85 

'  'And  do  you  know  what  they  brought  me  here  for?" 

"No — I  don't." 

"You  are  keeping  me  here  a  prisoner.  Do  you  know 
that  I  have  a  friend  who  will  punish  you  for  this?  Never 
will  he  rest  till  he  has  hunted  me  up,  and  he  will  avenge 
my  wrongs.  He  will  punish  every  one  who  has  been  con- 
nected with  my  abduction." 

"But  I  have  done  every  thing  that  I  can  do  for  you," 
said  the  woman.  "I  have  offered  to  get  any  thing  for 
you  that  you  want." 

'  'Stop!"  cried  the  lad.  '  'I  don't  want  to  hear  any  of 
your  offers.  They  are  all  vile,  wicked,  shameless — all 
mocking  at  my  misery!  Go  away!  I  don't  want  you  nor 
your  shameless  presence  here  to  mock  me  longer!  Go!" 

"Fool!"  shrieked  the  Mademoiselle,  her  dark  eyes 
flashing  angrily.  "Fool  that  you  are!"  And  she  turned 
and  left  the  lad  alone. 

"O  God!"  wailed  the  lad  in  despair.  "Will  Tom 
never  come?  Must  I  stay  here  in  this  vile,  wicked  place? 
O  God!  Help  me — help  Tom!"  he  implored.  And, 
throwing  himself  upon  his  bed,  he  burst  into  tears. 


86  CONFRONTED. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


TOM    WESTON    SUSPECTS     THE     TRIO    OF    ODD    COGNOMENS, 
AND    GOES    AFTER   THEM. 

For  a  few  minutes  after  Tom  Weston  returned  and 
found  the  Kid  gone,  he  sat  with  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands,  completely  at  a  loss  what  to  do  or  to  think.  But 
it  was  not  long  that  he  could  remain  thus,  for  he  was  a 
man  of  promptness  and  decision  of  character — a  man 
who  could  not  long  remain  inactive  when  the  welfare  of 
a  friend  depended  on  his  exertions.  He  was  quick  to 
comprehend  the  situation,  and  just  as  quick  to  determine 
upon  a  plan  of  action  which  would  meet  its  requirements. 

Yes— the  Kid  was  gone!  And  there  could  be  but  one 
solution  to  the  problem  that  was  in  the  least  satisfactory 
to  Tom  Weston,  as  to  the  cause  of  his  little  friend's  dis- 
appearance, and  this  was  that  he  had  been  kidnaped  by 
his  enemies — Faro  Bill,  Jim  Madison  and  One-Eyed 
Riley. 

"Yes — they  have  done  this!"  he  declared.  Springing 
to  his  feet,  he  immediately  set  out  for  the  Casino,  in 
search  of  Faro  Bill  and  his  partners  in  crime. 

As  we  have  already  seen,  Tom  Weston  had  made 
somewhat  of  an  impression  upon  the  minds  of  the  fre- 
quenters of  the  Casino.  But  tonight  he  created  amaze- 
ment and  consternation  when  he  suddenly  appeared  in 
their  midst  with  a  revolver  in  his  right  hand  and  a  Win- 
chester in  his  left,  and,  facing  the  malodorous  trio  for 
whom  he  was  searching,  cried  out: 


THE     LIONS     BEARDED. 


89 


"All  hands  up!     Now,   mark  you!     The  first  one  of 

you  that  moves  a  hand  will  be  bored  so  full  of  holes  that 

his  dirty  hide  won't  hold  whisky!    I  have  a  little  business 

to  settle  with  you  three  fellows." 

Apparently  without  moving  a   muscle  other  than  the 

organs  of  speech, 

he  addressed  these 
words  to  the  by- 
standers: 

"Gentlemen,  I 
know  these  three 
fellows  went  to  my 
tent  tonight,  when 
I  was  away,  and 
stole  my  boy — the 
Kid.  They  are  the 
only  enemies  that 
the  Kid  has.  No 
one  else  would  do 
this  trick;  no  one 
else  would  have 
had  any  object  in 
doing  it.  These 
curs  have  such  an 

object,  and  it  was  to  save  their  worthless  skins  that  they 

have  spirited  away  the  boy." 

Hoarse  with  fury,  Tom  addressed  his  closing  remarks 

to  the  proprietor  of  the  Casino,   who  cowered  before  his 

scornful  gaze: 

"Faro  Bill,  hear  me!     Just  as  sure  as  there  is  a  God 


'I  HAVE  A  LITTLE  BUSINESS  TO  SETTLE." 


9O  VOW     OF    VENGEANCE. 

in  Heaven — just  as  sure  as  the  sun  rises  and  sets — if  you 
harm  a  hair  of  that  boy's  head  or  injure  him  in  any  way, 
much  or  little,  I  swear  before  this  people  and  before  God 
that  I  will  wreak  a  vengeance  on  you  that  will  make  the 
very  imps  of  Hades  green  with  envy!  Curse  you,  Faro 
Bill!  I  will  make  you  an  especial  object  of  my  ven- 
geance! Curse  you!  I  will  hunt  you  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth!  You  can't  escape  me!  Don't  try  to  buoy  up  your 
fickle  courage  with  such  a  vain  hope!  I  know,  just  as 
well  as  if  I  had  seen  you  do  it,  that  you  three  fellows  are 
guilty!" 

"Search  the  house,"  cried  Faro  Bill,  "and  if  you  find 
him,  then  shoot  us,  if  you  want  to.  But— 

"Search  nothing!"  interrupted  Tom.  "You  would 
not  dare  to  bring  him  here,  for  you  knew  full  well  that  I 
would  come  here  in  search  of  him.  Oh,  no;  you  need 
not  think  to  throw  me  off  the  track  by  any  such  clumsy 
scheme  as  that.  No — no;  you  can't  do  it,  I  assure  you. 
I  did  not  expect  to  find  the  Kid  here.  I  simply  came 
here  to  ask  you  to  restore  him  to  his  liberty,  and  1  give 
you  a  chance  to  do  it.  If  between  this  and  morning  the 
lad  returns,  all  right;  if  he  does  not,  I  swear  by  all  the 
devils  in  the  infernal  regions  that  I  will  make  you  most 
wofully  rue  the  day  that  you  committed  the  deed!" 

"I  tell  you,  Tom  Weston,  that  I  know  nothing  about 
that  boy!  If  I  had  wanted  to  make  away  with  him,  I 
could  have  done  it  long  ago.  He  had  been  staying  here 
for  several  months  before  you  came  here,"  declared  Faro 
Bill. 

"That  won't  do,  Faro  Bill!"  exclaimed  Tom.    "Since 


FAROS     BLUFF     CALLED.  91 

I  came  here  things  have  changed  a  little.  That  makes 
all  the  difference  in  the  world,  you  see.  You  know  well 
enough  where  the  Kid  is." 

"I  don't  know  any  thing  of  the  kind!  And  I  swear 
that  I  won't  allow  any  man  to  come  here  and  accuse  me 
of  any  such  a  thing  as " 

"Keep  cool — keep  cool,  my  friend!  Your  threats  are 
unnecessary  I  am  here,  and  you  will  not  attempt  to  put 
me  out.  I  will  make  all  the  accusations  that  I  want  to, 
and  I  not  only  repeat  what  I  have  said,  but  more.  I 
swear  that  you  and  Jim  Madison,  there,  murdered  old 
John  Beaty,  one  dark  night,  down  in  Dead  Man's  Can- 
yon! Oh,  yes — you  did!  And  the  day  is  not  far  distant 
when  you  shall  suffer  for  it.  I  know  all  this,  though  I 
can't  prove  it  as  yet;  but  I  will.  I  know,  too,  that  a  man 
who  was  the  poorest  and  lowest  pimp  in  town  one  day 
became  suddenly  rich,  and  I  know  how  it  was  done.  I 
know,  too,  that  a  man  so  low  in  the  scale  of  humanity 
that  he  will  serve  the  infamous  brothels  of  the  town  as 
a  procurer,  luring  young  people  to  destruction,  is  none 
too  good  to  murder  an  old  man  for  his  money.  All  these 
things  have  you  done!" 

With  this  parting  shot,  Tom  Weston  turned  around 
and  walked  out  of  the  Casino. 


NO     TIDINGS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE    KIDS    GOOD    FRIEND    IS    HOT   ON    HIS    TRAIL. 

Back  to  his  tent  went  Tom  Weston,  and  after  dis- 
guising himself  he  returned  to  that  moth-luring  candle— 
the  Casino.  Here  he  mingled  with  the  crowd,  in  the 
hope  of  picking  up  a  clew  to  guide  him  in  his  search  for 
his  little  friend.  He  could  learn  nothing,  however,  save 
the  fact  that  Faro  Bill  and  his  two  partners  in  crime  had 
become  terribly  worked  up  by  the  scathing  denunciation 
and  awful  threat  which  he  had  publicly  poured  upon 
them. 

For  six  days  Tom  had  exerted  his  utmost  energy  in 
the  task  of  rinding  his  lost  companion,  but  as  yet  not  a 
trace  of  him  had  been  found. 

But  Tom  Weston  was  not  a  man  to  despair;  for,  as 
soon  as  one  day's  fruitless  search  was  ended,  he  imme- 
diately, began  plans  for  the  next.  Thus  for  six  long  and 
dreary  days  of  doubt  and  uncertainty  he  kept  up  his  un- 
relaxing  search. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Tom,  returning  from  a 
jaunt  into  the  country,  one  night,  was  passing  slowly 
along  the  road  just  opposite  the  brick  house  known  as 
the  "Orphans'  Home."  Pausing  therefor  a  moment,  he 
scanned  the  dim  outlines  of  the  structure. 

But  Tom  Weston  was  not  a  man  who  frequented  such 
places,  nor  had  he  a  thought  of  it  now;  but,  just  as  he 
turned  to  move  on,  a  carriage  which  had  been  standing 


'O  TOM!"  CRIED  THE  BOY. 
—93— 


AID    SECURED.  Q5 


at  the  door  and  unnoticed  by  Tom  came  dashing  by  him 
and  drove  away  swiftly. 

"Ah!"  muttered  Tom.  "That  is  Faro  Bill's  outfit. 
What  can  be  his  business  here?  By  jinks,  now!  It  may 
be  that  the  boy  is  in  there!  If  he  is — ah,  I  will  see!" 

Entering  the  house,  he  found  himself  in  a  large  room 
which  served  in  the  dual  capacity  of  bar  and  reception 
room.  He  was  welcomed  by  a  tall  and  graceful  woman, 
who  advanced  toward  him  and  bade  him  enter  the  dance 
hall,  where  the  young  people  were  making  merry. 

"I  claim  this  gentleman  by  right  of  discovery,"  ex- 
claimed a  handsome,  dark-eyed  senorita,  seizing  Tom  by 
the  arm  as  he  entered  the  hall. 

"Ah,  Signor!  You  are  a  stranger.  Beg  pardon!  I 
thought  I  knew  you — I " 

"Nevermind,"  interrupted  Tom.  "I  would  like  to 
talk  with  you,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  permit. " 

"Thank  you,  Signor.  I  will  permit.  Do  you  ever 
dance?" 

"No — never  learned." 

"But  I  will  teach  you,   Signor." 

"No — no;  not  now.  I  have  Come  here  in  search  of 
a  friend.  I  was  told  that  he  was  here,  and  I  want  to  find 
him,  as  I  have  some  important  business  with  him.  If  you 
will  assist  me,  I  will  give  you  money." 

"Ah,  Signor!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  eagerly.  "You  do 
tempt  me.  You  know  our  weak  points.  But  who  is  this 
friend?  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"Can  I  trust  you?"  asked  Tom,  doubtfully. 

"Trust  me?    Ah,  Signor!    You  don't  know  me,  or  you 


96 


INEZ    ALVAREZ 


would  not  ask  me  that.  Oh,  I  would  like  to  be  honest; 
I  would  like  to  be  good!  But  this  is  not  answering  you. 
I  see  that  you  are  impatient.  Si,  Signer,  you  can  trust 
me.  When  Inez  Alvarez  does  this  (and  she  placed  her 
small,  jeweled  hand  in  his)  she  is  your  friend,  and  she 
would  die  before  she  would  betray  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Tom;  and  he  told  her  frankly  of 
his  missiou  there 
that  night,  and 
what  had  direct- 
ed his  suspicions 
to  the  place. 

"Ah,  me!" 
exclaimed  the 
girl,  indignantly. 
"And  so  the 
Mademoiselle  's 
become  a  jailer? 
I  understand  it 
all  now." 

"Understand 
what?"  he  asked. 
"Tell  me,  and  I 
will  give  you  gold 
for  telling  me. " 

"But  you  will  not  betray  me?" 

"Betray  you?     Heavens — no!      I  will  swear  it,  if  you 
want  me  to,"  he  declared. 

"No — no;  not  that.    I  am  not  afraid  to  trust  the  man 
that  'laid  out'  Tucson  Joe.      A  man  so  brave  and  strong 


"Si,  SIGNOR,   You  CAN  TRUST  ME." 


RESCUE.  97 

must  be  noble  and  true.  But  I  don't  know  any  thing.  I 
only  suspect,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  why.  We  have  rules 
here  that  all  must  obey,  and,  if  you  were  acquainted  with 
us,  you  would  know.  I  can  't  go  with  you,  but  here  is  a 
card  with  the  number  of  my  room.  The  second  door 
beyond  mine  is  occupied  by  some  one,  1  think.  I  have 
seen  the  Mademoiselle  go  there.  She  don't  allow  any  of 
us  to  go  there.  The  forbidden  room  adjoins  her  own,  and 
the  next  one  beyond  this  is  locked  up.  So  there  is  no 
one  near  this  room  but  herself.  This  is  all  that  I  can  tell 
you." 

'  'Thank  you, "  said  Tom,  as  he  placed  some  gold  pieces 
in  her  hand. 

"Thanks — thanks,"  whispered  the  girl,  warmly. 
"And  may  you  not  forget  the  little  Spanish  girl  who, 
perhaps,  has  almost  risked  her  life  to  befriend  a  stranger. 
Come;  I  will  show  you  the  way."  She  led  him  to  the 
hall  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and,  extending  her  hand, 
said:  "I  can  go  no  farther.  Adios. " 

"Good-by, "  answered  Tom  as  he  ascended  the  stairs. 

"This  is  the  place,"  mused  Tom,  as  he  paused  before 
the  door  to  which  he  had  been  directed,  and,  placing  his 
broad  shoulder  against  it,  he  quickly  forced  it  open. 

As  he  entered  the  Kid  sprang  from  the  bed  on  which 
he  was  lying,  but  in  the  darkness  he  was  unable  to  rec- 
ognize his  rescuer. 

"Who  is  this?"  demanded  the  Kid. 

"H— sh!     It  is  I—Tom." 

"O  Tom!"  cried  the  grateful  Kid.  In  a  moment  he 
felt  himself  clasped  in  the  close  embrace  of  his  great, 


98  TOM  LEARNS  HOW  IT  WAS  DONE. 

strong,  noble-hearted  friend,  and  his  slight  and  yielding 
form  was  pressed  to  the  strong  man's  heart. 

With  a  feeling  of  unspeakable  joy,  the  lad,  yielding 
for  a  moment  to  that  close  embrace,  whispered: 

"O  thank  God!  Thank  God!"  And  his  arms  stole 
around  his  friend's  neck,  and,  drawing  his  head  down  to 
him,  he  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  the  weather-beaten  cheek 
of  his  brave  and  generous  rescuer. 

"H — sh!"  whispered  Tom.  "Wait  till  we  get  out  of 
here.  Come,  my  lad."  Together  they  went  down  the 
stairs  and  out  into  the  night. 

Hardly  had  they  reached  the  road  when  they  saw  that 
there  was  a  commotion  in  the  house,  and  Tom  was  not 
slow  in  divining  the  cause. 

"They  have  discovered  our  flight,"  said  Tom,  in  tri- 
umphant glee. 

"O  Tom!     I  knew  that  you  would  come  for  me." 

"Of  course  you  did." 

"And  are  you  all  well,  Tom?" 

"Why,  yes;  of  course.      I  am  always  well." 

"But  was  n't  you  hurt  at  all?" 

"Hurt?  Why,  no.  What  made  you  think  so?  Who 
told  you  that  I  was  hurt?" 

"Not  long  after  you  had  gone  down  to  the  canyon  to 
investigate  the  phantom  horseman,  a  man  came  running 
to  our  camp  from  the  road,  calling  me  by  my  camp  name. 
He  told  me  that  he  had  seen  you,  and  that  you  were  at 
the  mouth  of  the  canyon,  badly  hurt.  He  seemed  to  be 
so  excited,  when  he  came  up,  that  I  could  hardly  under- 
stand him.  But  I  see  through  it  all  now.  Oh,  if  I  had 


HOME    AGAIN.  99 


only  known  that  you  were  not  hurt,  I  would  n't  have 
cared  so  much  for  being  shut  up  there!  I  was  so  shocked 
when  the  pretended  messenger  told  me  you  were  hurt 
that  I  never  stopped  to  think  about  any  thing  else,  but 
just  gathered  up  the  articles  which  he  said  you  had  sent 
for,  and  followed  him  out.  As  I  stepped  outside  the  tent 
a  man  jumped  on  me  from  behind,  and  the  man  I  was 
following  turned  and  grabbed  me  in  his  arms.  Then  an- 
other threw  a  blanket  over  my  head.  I  struggled  and 
fought  as  hard  as  I  could  to  get  my  arms  free,  but  they 
were  too  much  for  me.  I  believe  that  if  I  could  have 
got  my  hands  free  I  could  have  got  away  from  them." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  Kid.  You  are  a  pretty 
smart  boy;  but  those  three  men,  all  of  whom  are  larger 
and  stronger  than  you  are,  would  be  rather  too  much  for 
even  you." 

"Well,  I  suppose  so.  But  what  did  you  see  down  at 
the  canyon?"  asked  the  boy,  anxiously. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  replied  Tom.  "I  don't  believe  that 
there's  any  thing  in  that  story.  Well,  here  we  are  again." 

"Home  again!"  exclaimed  the  Kid. 

"Home  again — yes.  But  we  must  be  at  work.  I 
suppose  that  you  are  tired  and  sleepy,  Kid;  but  I  believe 
we  had  better  arrest  Faro  Bill  and  Jim  Madison  tonight. 
You  can  identify  them  as  the  men  who  kidnaped  you, 
can  't  you?"  asked  Tom. 

"Oh,  I  know  they  were  Faro  and  Jim,  but  I  could 
not  see  them.  There  was  another  one — the  one  who 
came  to  the  camp  for  me.  I  don't  know  who  he  was,  for 
I  never  looked  at  him,"  said  Kid. 


IOO  A    VISIT    POSTPONED. 

"But  I  know  they  are  the  ones  who  did  it,  and  I  am 
going  up  there,"  declared  Tom. 

"If  you  go,  I  will  go,,  too,"  said  the  boy. 

This  caused  Tom  to  hesitate. 

'  'Well,  I  don't  know  as  it  's  much  use,  either.  Per- 
haps we  had  better  wait  till  morning.  We  can  't  prove 
it  positively,  and  maybe  they  won't  skip.  Just  crawl  into 
your  nest,  Kid." 

The  lad  needed  no  further  invitation,  and  his  example 
was  soon  followed  by  his  stalwart  protector;  bnt  it  was  a 
long  time  before  sleep  came  to  the  latter.  Once  he  raised 
up  and  looked  over  to  where  the  Kid,  wrapped  in  his 
blankets,  was  soundly  sleeping.  Tom  was  almost  deter- 
mined that  he  would  venture  a  visit  to  the  Casino,  but 
he  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  leaving  the  boy  alone. 

"No — I  will  wait,"  he  said,  and  fell  asleep. 


PUTTING     THINGS    TO     RIGHTS.  1 03 


CHAPTER  XIIL 


FARO    BILL    AND    HIS    CONFRERES    FLY    THE    COOP. 

Bright  and  early  the  next  morning  the  Kid  was  awake 
and  up,  busily  putting  things  to  rights,  for  culinary  mat- 
ters had  received  slight  attention  since  the  night  of  his 
abduction.  No  article  was  in  its  proper  place,  and  every 
dish  was  dirty.  But  it  was  not  long  before  every  thing 
was  put  to  rights  and  a  warm  meal  prepared.  Mean- 
while Tom  Weston  slept  soundly. 

"Come,  Tom;  wake  up.      Breakfast  is  ready." 

"Thunder!  I  guess  I  would  have  slept  all  day  if  you 
had  not  called  me." 

"Here  's  a  basin  of  water;  make  yourselt  ready,  and 
we  '11  eat,"  said  the  boy. 

"All  right,  my  good  lad.  But  I  wish  I  had  waked 
earlier.  I  fear  Faro  Bill  and  his  pards  will  skip  out  when 
they  learn  what  has  happened.  Hurry  up,  Kid,  and  let 
us  go  to  the  Casino  and  see  if  the  birds  have  fiown." 

Hastily  finishing  their  meal,  they  set  out  together  for 
the  Casino. 

Leading  the  way  and  armed  with  his  Winchester,  Tom 
entered  the  saloon  and  paused  for  a  moment,  looking 
around  upon  the  few  loafers  who  had  already  dropped  in 
to  take  their  morning  dram.  Then,  approaching  the  bar, 
he  demanded  of  Dutch  John  in  atone  of  stern  command: 

"Where  's  Faro  Bill?" 

"Py  chiminelli  toonder!"  exclaimed  the  cowardly 
Dutchman.  "I  toandt  know  vare  he  ish." 


1O4 


DUTCH     JOHN     RATTLED. 


"Out  with  it,  you  blear-eyed  bloke,  or,  by  thunder, 
I  '11  blow  the  whole  top  off  your  head!"  As  he  said  this, 
Tom  slipped  his  hand  threateningly  toward  the  lock  of 
his  gun  in  a  manner  that  convinced  the  Dutchman  of  his 
imminent  peril. 

"Got  py  toonder,  mein  herr!  I  toandt  know.  He 
ish  nix  heer.  He 
ish  gone  und  avay 
rooned  mit  himself 
off,  py  chiminelli 
toonder!" 

"We  will  now 
search  the  house 
and  see,"  declared 
Tom,  "and  if  you 
have  lied  to  me,  I 
will  try  a  little  tar- 
get practice  upon 
you.  I  will  fix  you 
so  you  won't  hold 
beer!" 

"Got  py  toon- 
der chimeny!  Dot 
vas  padt  peesness  for  me,"  puttered  the  Dutchman. 

"Out  with  it,  then.  Where  have  they  gone?"  Tom 
demanded. 

"Py  chimeny  toonder,  he  rooned  avay  mit  dose  One- 
Eyed  Rileys  off,  und  mit  Shim,  und  I  toandt  know  vare. 
Py  chiminelli,  I  toles  you  de  troot  apoudt  dot  peesness, 
I  shware  py  toonder!" 


THE  DISHES  WERE  ALL  DIRTY. 


A    WAITING    POLICY.  IO5 

The  frightened  Dutchman  was  whining.  But  he  had 
told  the  truth,  for  a  search  of  the  uncanny  premises  dis- 
closed the  fact  that  the  three  had  left  just  as  soon  as  they 
had  been  told  of  the  Kid's  escape. 

Less  than  an  hour  after  Torn  rescued  the  Kid  from 
the  "Orphans'  Home"  a  messenger  arrived  at  the  Casino 
with  news  of  the  rescue,  and  in  less  than  twenty  minutes 
the  trio — Faro  Bill,  Masher  Jim  and  One-Eyed  Riley — 
left  Las  Animas. 

Tom  was  now  satisfied  that  they  were  really  gone, 
and  that  the  Dutchman  had  not  lied  about  that  part  of 
it,  at  least. 

"Well,  there  's  nothing  left  us,  Kid,  but  to  go  back 
home  and  wait.  We  won't  gain  any  thing  by  worrying. 
Some  thing  will  turn  up,  by-and-by;  so  let  us  wait.  The 
vultures  are  in  hiding  some  where — most  likely  near  by — 
and  if  we  lie  low  and  keep  out  of  sight,  they  are  sure  to 
bob  up  before  long." 

"You  know  best  what  to  do,"  said  the  Kid. 

"Here  is  what  we  '11  do,  my  lad:  We  will  investi- 
gate this  phantom  story  first.  If  nothing  further  turns 
up,  after  we  've  settled  that,  we  can  go  up  to  my  camp 
in  the  mountains  for  a  month.  I  think  I  can  finish  my 
work  in  that  time,  and  find  out  just  what  I  have  got  up 
there.  By  that  time  Faro  Bill  and  his  pals  will  crop  out 
at  some  point.  It  may  seem  to  you,  Kid,  that  it  will 
give  them  a  chance  to  escape;  but  I  do  not  fear  that  they 
will  attempt  any  thing  of  the  kind.  All  their  property  is 
here,  and  they  will  not  leave  that.  It  will  need  their  at- 
tention. Beside,  the  gang  will  think,  when  they  find  we 


IO6  DECIDE     TO     INVESTIGATE. 

have  gone,  that  we  have  either  given  up  the  chase  or 
struck  a  cold  trail. 

"That  's  about  my  plan,  Kid.  But,  before  we  go,  I 
want  to  find  out  for  sure  whether  there  is  any  thing  in 
that  ghost  story.  I  don't  believe  there  's  any  phantom 
horseman  any  more  than  I  believe  One-Eyed  Riley  is  a 
saint;  but  I  know  you  do,  and  I  want  you  to  be  satisfied 
on  this  point." 

"I  can  't  help  believing  it,  Tom.  I  know  that  you 
will  think  me  foolish,  but  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  go  and 
see  if  I  can  learn  any  thing  about  the  ghostly  rider  in 
Dead  Man's  Canyon.  Don't  laugh  at  me,  Tom,  for  I 
can  't  help  it." 

"Be  it  true  or  false,  we  will  investigate  it  thoroughly 
before  we  go  away  or  do  any  thing  else,"  promised  Tom. 

Thus  it  was  arranged,  and  in  a  few  days  they  were 
ready  for  their  tour  of  observation  down  in  Dead  Man's 
Canyon. 


'THE  PHANTOM  HORSEMAN." 
— 108— 


AN     ARIZONA     SUNSET.  IOQ 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE    PHANTOM    HORSEMAN    RIDES    BY    NIGHT,    AND  A    MIMIC 
TRAGEDY    IS    ENACTED. 

The  night  on  which  Tom  and  the  Kid  had  arranged 
to  keep  their  vigil  in  Dead  Man's  Canyon  had  closed 
down  over  the  bleak  and  barren  hills,  the  sandy  plains 
and  the  cold  and  dreary  mountains,  and  the  scene  was 
dark  and  dismal  enough  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  most 
aesthetic  ghost. 

The  sun  had  gone  down  behind  the  western  hills  and 
the  last  ruddy  glow  of  its  receding  light  had  lifted  like  a 
veil  and  crept  slowly  up  the  sloping  side  of  a  long,  high 
range  of  mountains  to  the  east  of  them,  painting  fantas- 
tic shadows  upon  the  dim,  filmy  outlines  of  the  mountain 
slopes,  which,  in  the  distance,  appeared  smooth  and  vel- 
vety, as  if  carpeted  with  a  rich  coat  of  verdure. 

Beautiful  and  grand  indeed  was  the  scene,  but  to  the 
eyes  of  the  anxiously  waiting  couple  it  presented  nothing 
of  grandeur  or  of  beauty.  Indeed,  it  rather  appeared 
dark  and  gloomy  than  otherwise;  and,  to  their  vivid  im- 
aginations, the  deep  canyons  which  furrowed  the  adja- 
cent mountain  seemed  peopled  with  wild,  weird  and 
shadowy  forms,  which  flitted  restlessly  from  place  to 
place  as  the  blackness  of  night  chased  away  the  last  ray 
of  waning  twilight. 

They  stood  before  the  door  of  their  little  tent,  look- 
ing away  toward  that  black,  yawning  chasm  in  whose 
dark  and  mysterious  depths  the  bloody  tragedy  had  been 


TIO  AWAITING     THC     MOON. 

committed  which  placed  such  an  uncanny  bane  upon  the 
lonely  spot  known  as  Dead  Man's  Canyon. 

When  the  last  ray  of  light  had  lifted,  and  the  last 
faint  tinge  of  color,  which  had  flitted  for  a  moment  upon 
its  rugged  side  and  limned  the  cold  rocks  with  its  beauti- 
ful tints  of  purple  and  gold,  had  given  way  to  the  inky 
blackness  which  crept  up  and  around  it  like  some  mystic 
spell  till  the  dark  canyon  had  faded  from  their  sight,  Tom 
turned  to  his  little  companion  and  said: 

"The  moon  will  be  up  at  ten  o'clock.  It  is  eight  now, 
and  I  think  that  by  the  time  we  get  down  there  the  ghost 
will  be  out.  As  a  general  thing,  you  know,  ghosts  like 
moonlight  nights." 

"Tom,  don't  make  light  of  this.  You  don't  know 
what  we  may  see  tonight,"  said  the  Kid,  and  his  voice 
trembled  with  the  emotion  which  he  could  not  repress. 

"What  we  may  see?"  repeated  Tom,  turning  a  keen, 
questioning  glance  upon  his  little  companion.  "No — no, 
Kid;  you  don't  want  to  go  down  there.  You  had  better 
not  go." 

"O  Tom!  I  want  to  go.  I  must — I  WILL  go!"  cried 
the  boy. 

"Well,  if  you  will  go,  and  you  think  that  your  nerves 
are  strong  enough  to  stand  the  strain,  why,  come  along 
-^that  's  all,"  assented  Tom. 

"I  can  stand  almost  any  thing  now,  Tom,  especially 
if  it  will  lead  to  the  discovery  of  my  father's — of — 

"Well,  never  mind,"  interrupted  Tom.  "You  have 
said  that  much  that  you  did  not  want  me  to  know.  But 
never  mind;  it  is  no  more  than  I  have  suspected  for  some 


ON     SCHEDULE     TIME.  I  I  I 

time.      And  so  John  Beaty,  the  missing  prospector,  was 
your  father?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Kid,  with  down-cast  eyes.  "There 
were  born  to  my  parents,  John  Beaty  and  wife,  two  boys 
and  a  girl.  I  am  the  only  one  living." 

"You  are  a  brave  boy,"  said  Tom,  "and  I  don't  fora 
moment  doubt  your  courage,  but  I  am  not  so  sure  about 
your  nerves.  But,  come;  let  us  be  off."  And  together 
they  set  out  upon  their  mission. 

Two  hours  later  they  entered  the  dark,  mysterious 
depths  of  Dead  Man's  Canyon — a  deep,  winding  defile, 
through  which,  until  the  preceding  year,  the  travel  to 
and  from  the  town  to  the  south  had  to  pass,  but  which 
was  now  abandoned,  so  it  was  said,  because  of  its  ghostly 
visitant. 

They  had  reached  a  point  nearly  midway  its  length 
and  at  its  narrowest  place,  where  there  was  a  sharp  angle 
in  its  course,  and  almost  at  the  very  spot  where  it  was 
supposed  that  the  murder  had  been  committed.  Here 
they  paused,  standing  under  the  overhanging  cliff  which 
towered  for  a  thousand  feet  above  their  heads,  and  im- 
patiently watched  and  listened. 

Said  Tom  afterward,  in  speaking  of  this:  "Some- 
how, a  queer  sort  of  feeling  came  over  me — a  sort  of 
shivering  feeling,  as  if  some  thing  first  hot  and  then  cold 
was  chasing  up  and  down  my  spine.  And  then  came,  as 
nearly  as  I  can  describe  it,  a  feeling  like  being  mesmer- 
ized— an  irresistible  desire  to  do  some  thing. 

''We  were  standing  thus  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  and 
as  if  rising  from  the  ground,  not  twenty  yards  away,  the 


112  FOLLOWING  THE  PHANTOM. 

dim  and  shadowy  outlines  of  what  we  instantly  knew  to 
be  the  phantom  horseman  appeared,  riding  directly  to- 
ward us.  I  felt  that  I  could  not  move  if  I  would. 

"As  the  phantom  rider  drew  near,  and  as  he  passed 
by  within  six  feet  of  us,  I  could  see  the  bushes  and  rocks 
on  the  opposite  side  of  him,  through  the  shadowy  form 
of  both  horse  and  rider.  Neither  I  nor  the  Kid  noticed 
the  features  of  the  phantom.  Perhaps  we  could  not." 

Passing  around  the  jutting  point  of  the  cliff  which 
formed  the  angle,  the  phantom,  riding  at  a  slow  pace, 
disappeared.  Without  a  sign  or  word,  and  as  if  both 
were  acting  under  the  same  spell — impelled  by  the  same 
power — the  silent  watchers  turned  and  followed  the 
ghostly  rider.  A  few  paces  brought  them  to  the  point  of 
the  angle,  whence,  looking  down  the  road,  they  beheld  a 
sight  which  caused  even  the  blood  of  hardy  Tom  to  run 
cold. 

Rooted  to  the  spot,  as  it  seemed,  and  unable  to  move 
— stricken  dumb  with  horror— they  beheld  what  appeared 
to  them  a  horseman  riding  slowly  down  the  road. 

He  had  just  reached  a  huge  bowlder  which  had  fallen 
from  above,  and  around  which  there  was  scarcely  room 
for  the  horse  to  pass,  when,  as  he  turned  the  point  of  the 
rock,  his  horse  reared  and  plunged  as  if  frightened  by 
some  one  rising  up  suddenly  from  behind  the  rock,  seiz- 
ing him  by  the  bridle-rein  and  jerking  him  back.  At  the 
same  time  the  rider  threw  up  his  hands,  as  if  some  one 
had  struck  him  to  the  heart  with  a  knife,  and  fell  back- 
ward. As  he  fell,  the  hilt  of  a  knife,  protruding  from  his 
breast,  was  plainly  seen  by  the  horrified  watchers. 


JOHN   BEATY'S   SKELETON.  113 

In  an  instant,  and  as  if  breaking  away  from  his  capt- 
ors, the  horse  sprang  forward,  throwing  his  rider  from 
the  saddle.  As  he  fell  his  foot  caught  in  the  stirrup,  and 
he  was  dragged  after  the  flying  and  now  doubly  fright- 
ened steed. 

Mechanically,  and  as  if  acting  under  the  spell  of  some 
strange  and  irresistible  charm,  the  two  friends  followed 
after  the  fleeing  horse.  A  minute  later  they  saw  the 
horse,  still  dragging  the  murdered  man  after  him,  turn 
from  the  main  canyon  and  disappear  in  a  deep,  narrow 
defile  which  came  down  from  the  left.  After  following 
up  this  defile  a  hundred  yards  or  more,  they  again  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  horse.  This  time  he  was  high  up  on  the 
side  of  the  mountain.  They  saw  him  just  as  he  came 
out  from  the  dark  shadows  of  the  trees;  and,  as  the  light 
of  the  moon  fell  full  upon  them,  they  saw  the  man  drop, 
as  if  freed  from  the  stirrup  which  had  till  now  held  him. 

Still  impelled  by  that  irresistible  spell,  the  terrified 
friends  followed.  Arriving  at  the  spot  where  they  had 
last  seen  the  horse,  and  where  it  seemed  the  body  had 
fallen,  they  saw,  just  as  they  clambered  over  a  huge  pile 
of  rocks,  the  bleaching  skeleton  of  a  man. 

It  was  a  wild  and  lonely  spot  where  they  found  it. 
Lying  in  a  little  hollow,  on  the  white  and  glistening  sand, 
it  was  completely  hidden  from  view  until  the  two  stood 
almost  directly  over  it. 

The  body  of  the  murdered  man  must  have  lain  there 
undisturbed,  for  the  bones  were  all  intact.  The  clothing 
had  decayed  and  fallen  away,  and  between  the  ribs,  di- 
rectly over  the  region  of  the  heart,  a  knife  was  sticking. 


EVIDENCE. 


It  had  been  driven  through  the  victim's  heart  by  a  quick 
and  powerful  blow,  for  it  had  struck  a  rib,  piercing  which, 
it  had  buried  itself  in  his  heart.  As  the  doomed  man 
fell  from  his  horse  and  was  dragged  away,  the  knife,  so 
firmly  imbedded,  had  been  wrenched  from  the  hand  of 
the  assassin,  that  some  day  it 
might  serve  as  a  witness  against 
the  murderer. 

"O  God!"  wailed  the  Kid, 
clasping  his  hands  upon  his  fore- 
head and  trembling  in  his  every 
nerve  and  fiber.  "O  God!  At 
last — at  last!"  And,  sinking 
down  upon  his  knees  beside 
those  bleaching  bones,  he  cried 
as  though  his  heart  were  break- 
ing. 

But  Tom  Weston,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  was  a  man 
of  nerve,  a  man  of  quick  thought 
and  action,  a  man  who  would 
not  be  a  long  while  inactive 
—quick  to  decide  upon  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it. 
After  surveying  the  scene  for  a  moment,  he  knelt  beside 
the  skeleton,  and,  drawing  the  knife  from  its  long  resting 
place,  examined  it  closely. 

On  the  handle  of  the  knife  was  inlaid  a  long  piece  of 
silver,  upon  which  was  engraved  the  name  of  its  owner, 
the  man  who  had  dealt  that  blow  of  treacherous  murder 
in  the  dark  canyon  below: 


DIRECTLY  OVER  THE  HEART  A 
KNIFE  WAS  STICKING." 


JIM    THE    MURDERER.  I  1 5 


I      J.  W.  MADISON. 

"Ah,"  muttered  Tom,  as  his  keen  eye  rested  upon 
the  tell-tale  knife,  "here  's  evidence,  and  it  comes  almost 
like  a  voice  from  the  grave.  They  say  that  'dead  men 
tell  no  tales, '  but  this  is  an  exception.  And  so  it  was  you, 
Jim  Madison,  who  dealt  that  murderous  blow — who  slew 
your  good  neighbor  and  trusting  friend!" 

On  inspecting  the  remnants  of  the  murdered  man's 
garments,  a  pocket-book  was  found,  which  contained  a 
few  papers  and  $100  in  gold.  The  papers  related  to  his 
business  affairs,  and  they  fully  and  undeniably  established 
the  identity  of  the  remains. 

••Well — well!"  said  Tom.  "This  settles  one  part  of 
our  work.  Now  for  the  other." 

Tenderly  gathering  the  bones  in  a  heap,  he  covered 
them  over  with  stones,  to  protect  them  until  he  could 
give  them  Christian  burial.  He  then  raised  the  weeping 
Kid  to  his  feet,  handed  him  the  pocket-book  and  papers, 
and  led  him  away. 

Back  into  the  deep  and  dark  canyon  they  went  again, 
and  sadly  and  slowly  retraced  their  steps  homeward. 

For  them,  the  mystery  of  Dead  Man's  Canyon  was 
solved.  They  felt — aye,  they  knew — that  the  phantom 
horseman  would  ride  no  more. 

Again  at  their  solitary  tent,  sad  and  weary  though 
they  were,  they  felt  that  now  they  were  prepared  to  take 
immediate  and  decisive  action  against  their  enemies. 

"It  only  remains  for  us  to  find  them,"  declared  Tom, 
triumphantly,  "and  that  we  will  do." 


Il6  A    LATE    BREAKFAST. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE    KID    MAKES    PROGRESS    IN    THE    ACCOMPLISHMENT   OF 

A  vow  AT  HIS  MOTHER'S  GRAVE. 

It  was  late  the  next  morning — or,  rather,  the  same 
morning,  for  they  were  up  far  beyond  midnight — when 
Tom  and  the  Kid  awoke,  after  a  short  but  refreshing 
sleep.  The  sun  was  fast  climbing  toward  the  zenith  and 
the  hum  of  the  busy  town  greeted  their  waking  ears. 

Arising  from  their  hard  beds,  Tom  went  about  mak- 
ing a  fire,  while  the  Kid  began  his  preparations  for  their 
breakfast.  Necessarily,  such  preparations  were  very 
simple;  for  camp  life  in  the  wild  and  semi-barbarous 
mountain  regions  of  Arizona  did  not,  at  that  period,  per- 
mit an  elaborate  display  of  either  cooking  or  household 
equipments.  On  this  particular  morning  their  stock  of 
provisions  was  very  low,  being  reduced,  as  the  Kid  put 
it,  "to  the  starving  point." 

Nevertheless,  the  Kid  set  about  his  task  with  a  light 
heart  compared  to  what  he  had  hitherto  possessed;  for 
the  gruesome  discovery  of  the  previous  night  had  removed 
all  doubts  regarding  the  fate  of  his  father — doubts  which 
had  hitherto  lain  as  a  heavy  weight  upon  his  heart.  The 
very  uncertainty  of  his  father's  fate  was  to  him  a  thou- 
sand times  more  torturous  than  the  knowledge  he  now 
had.  At  last  he  had  learned  for  a  certainty  that  his  be- 
loved father  was  dead  and  beyond  the  power  of  all  his 
enemies  to  torment  him.  The  lad's  mind  was  at  rest  on 
this  particular  point. 


•THEY  HALTED  BEFORE  THE  DOOR. 
-117™. 


COMPARATIVELY  CONTENTED. 


IIQ 


Beside,  the  evidence  which  he  and  Tom  had  secured, 
pointing  unmistakably  to  the  murderer,  was  a  long  step 
toward  the  accomplishment  of  the  Kid's  paramount  ob- 

ject—the fulfill- 
ing of  a  solemn 
vow  made  over 
the  still,  cold 
form  of  his  poor 
mother  who  had 


died  of  a  broken 
heart  of    griev- 


ing over  the  un- 
certain   fate    of 
her     husband. 
This  was  a  vow 
that    he    would 
never  rest   or  seek 
pleasure     or     hap- 
piness in   any  way 
till   he    had   solved 
the     mystery    sur- 
rounding   his    dear 


TOM  WENT  ABOUT  STARTING  A  FIRE." 


I2O  S.-B.      AND     HOE-CAKE. 

father's  fate  and  avenged  his  death.  The  incriminating 
evidence  which  he  now  had  in  his  possession  was,  he 
believed,  sufficient  to  convict;  and  he  looked  forward  with 
a  feeling  of  impatient  delay  to  the  day  when  he  should 
bring  the  murderer  to  account.  It  made  but  little  differ- 
ence to  him,  as  he  went  about  preparing  their  scanty 
meal,  if  they  were  so  nearly  reduced  to  the  "starving 
point." 

"Well,  Tom,"  said  the  lad,  as  he  laid  their  slim  fare 
upon  the  top  of  the  mess-box  which  served  as  their  table, 
'  'we  will  have  to  content  ourselves  this  morning  with  hoe- 
cake  and  that  kind  of  meat  which  you  speak  of  occa- 
sionally. " 

"Every  thing  goes  with  me  when  I  am  hungry,"  said 
Tom,  with  a  grimace — "even  hoe-cake  and  sow-belly." 

"It  would  n't  be  quite  so  bad  if  we  had  plenty  of  it, 
but  we  have  n't;  so  we  will  have  to  divide,"  said  the  Kid. 

"Divide 'er  up,  then,  and  give  me  my  share,"  said 
Tom.  "It  will  stay  our  stomachs  till  we  can  get  some 
thing  more.  Lucky  it  was  for  us  that  those  villains  did 
not  find  your  father's  remains  and  take  what  little  money 
he  had  in  his  pockets,  for  we  would  have  had  to  starve 
on  till  we  could  have  earned  our  dinner,"  declared  Tom 
as  he  devoured  his  scanty  portion. 

After  finishing  their  meal  the  two  went  up  town  and 
purchased  a  supply  of  provisions  sufficient  to  last  them  a 
month  or  so,  and  then  returned  and  cooked  for  them- 
selves a  "square  meal."  It  was  a  tempting  vision  to 
their  hungry  eyes,  and  to  say  that  they  did  it  ample  jus- 
tice would  be  expressing  it  very  mildly.  They  ate  as  only 


PLANNING  THE  NEXT  MOVE.  121 

two  rugged,  hearty  and  hungry  lads  could  eat.  Tom  was 
loud  in  his  praise  of  the  lad's  wonderful  skill  in  the  culi- 
nary art. 

"By  ginger!  Kid,  you  can  just  dish  up  the  best  grub 
out  of  the  least  variety  of  any  cook  I  ever  saw." 

"If  you  keep  on  praising  my  cooking  like  this,  I  will 
get  a  poor  opinion  of  you  as  a  house  keeper,  I  am  afraid. 
But  say,  Tom,  what  are  you  going  to  do  next?  I  can  't 
long  remain  idle.  I  must  be  doing,  for  I  can't  rest  till 
my  work  is  done." 

"We  will  not  be  idle,  Kid.  We  have  too  much  work 
to  do.  Beside,  it  will  be  cold  weather  before  long,  and 
we  must  prepare  for  that,  too.  This  money  of  yours  will 
last  us  but  a  little  while;  then  we  must  have  more,  for  we 
can  't  do  much  without  money.  So,  you  see,  we  have 
got  plenty  to  think  of  and  plenty  to  do  to  keep  us  busy." 

"Yes — yes,  Tom;  I  know  all  that.  But  what  shall 
we  do  first?  I  am  anxious  to  be  at  work.  I  am  willing 
to  do  any  thing.  You  understand  better  than  I  what  we 
ought  to  do  first.  Tell  me  that." 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you,  Kid,  what  I  have  been  think- 
ing of — or,  rather,  the  plan  which  I  have  laid  out.  We 
can  't  do  any  thing  here  now.  We  have  finished  one  part 
of  our  work,  and  that  is  all  we  can  do  here  at  present. 
We  would  only  be  wasting  time  by  remaining  here,  and, 
as  we  don't  know  where  to  look  for  our  friends,  we  must 
wait  till  they  show  up.  This  they  will  be  sure  to  do  ere 
long  if  we  keep  out  of  the  way.  But  while  we  await 
developments  in  this  line,  we  can  be  doing  some  thing 
else  that  will  help  us  by-and-by — some  thing  that  will 


122  TOM'S    MOUNTAIN  HOME. 

put  us  in  a  condition,  financially,  to  carry  out  our  plans 
when  once  we  strike  the  right  trail.  We  can  't  do  much 
without  money,  especially  if  they  should  take  a  notion  to 
leave  here;  so,  while  we  are  waiting,  we  can  work. 

"Now,  my  lad,  this  is  what  I  propose  to  do:  We 
will  go  up  into  the  mountains  where  I  have  been  pros- 
pecting, and  finish  my  work  up  there.  I  think  that  in  a 
couple  of  weeks — perhaps  three,  not  more — I  can  com- 
plete what  I  left  unfinished.  We  will  then  have  money, 
and  can,  if  necessary,  follow  those  vultures  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth.  We  have  got  every  thing  that  we  need;  so 
all  that  remains  for  us  to  do  is  to  pack  up  and  be  off. " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Tom,"  said  the  Kid,  and  he 
turned  away  to  hide  his  troubled  face.  "I  don't  know. 
I  never  thought  of  that." 

"Thought  of  it?"  interrupted  Tom.  "You  don't  have 
to  think  of  it.  It 's  already  thought  of.  All  we  have  to 
do  is  to  'git  up  and  git. ' 

There  was  an  air  of  decision  accompanying  his  man- 
ner and  tone  that  effectually  precluded  remonstrance  or 
even  hesitancy. 

Well  did  the  Kid  know  that  when  Tom  "set  his  head 
to  do  a  thing,"  if  he  thought  it  was  right  and  for  the 
best,  he  would  do  it  in  spite  of  all  creation.  This  thing 
he  had  planned  from  the  first,  and  the  Kid,  naturally 
subservient  to  the  will  of  others,  especially  friends,  could 
do  naught  but  yield.  So  it  was  arranged  that  they  should 
start  early  on  Monday  morning.  As  it  was  Saturday  even- 
ing, they  had  but  little  time  in  which  to  get  ready;  but 
there  was  not  much  to  be  done,  and  when  Monday  morn- 
ing came  the  two  gold  seekers  were  early  on  the  road. 


'  TOM  AND  His  COMPANION  SET  OUT  FOR  LAS  ANIMAS. 
—124— 


AT     WORK.  125 


Three  days  later,  they  halted  before  the  door  of  a 
neat  log  cabin,  where,  for  a  month  or  so,  Tom  Weston 
had  made  his  home. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


TOM    AND    THE    KID    CATCH  A  GLIMPSE    OF    THE    SINEWS  OF 
WAR A    RICH    STRIKE. 

"Home  again!"  exclaimed  Tom,  as  he  dismounted 
and  began  unpacking  and  unsaddling  the  horses.  "Go 
into  the  house,  Kid,  and  put  things  to  rights;  for  every 
thing  is  topsy-turvy,  of  course.  It  's  always  so  about 
my  ranch,  when  I  have  the  care  of  it.  I  '11  bring  the 
things  as  soon  as  I  put  the  horses  out." 

And  thus  life  in  their  new  home — new  to  the  Kid — 
began  in  right  good  earnest. 

For  several  days  they  busied  themselves  in  fitting  up 
the  little  cabin  and  getting  ready  for  "business,"  as  Tom 
termed  it. 

Two  berths — or  "bunks,"  as  they  are  called — were 
constructed  similar  to  those  of  a  ship.  Tom  occupied 
the  lower  one  and  the  Kid  the  upper  one.  Then,  when 
all  was  ready,  began  the  long,  hard  days  of  toil — toil 
that  led  the  way  to  a  fortune  for  the  patient  and  indus- 
trious toilers. 

For  six  weeks  they  worked  unceasingly,  and  appar- 
ently to  little  effect.  The  cold  days  of  early  Winter  had 
come.  But  one  morning  when  they  had  begun  work  a 
little  later  than  usual,  and  before  a  half-dozen  shovelfuls 


126 


GLISTENING    QUARTZ 


of  earth  had  been  removed,  the  crowning  glory  of  their 
triumphant  toil  was  reached — a  rich,  gold-bearing  lode 
which  Tom  knew  to  be  worth  a  fortune. 

"There — there!"  cried  Tom,  as  the  glittering  ore  was 
exposed.    '  'Another  part 
of  our  work  is  done!" 

"O  Tom,"  cried  the 
Kid,  gazing  on  the  glis- 
tening quartz,  "it  won't 
be  long  now  till  we  can 
begin  our  other 
work,  will  it?" 


PATIENT,  INDUSTRIOUS  TOILERS. 


"Not  long, 
Ki  d;  and, 
when  we  do 
begin  on  it, 
there  will  be 
nothing  to  hinder  us 
from  going  ahead  with 
it.  We  will  get  ready 
just  as  soon  as  we  can 
and  return  to  Las  Ani- 
mas  with  the  news." 


TOMS     JUDGMENT     COMMENDED.  127 

In  another  day  their  claims  were  staked  out  and  every 
thing  prepared  for  the  coming  of  the  eager,  excited 
crowds  which  they  knew  would  cotne  when  the  announce- 
ment of  the  discovery  of  the  rich  find  was  made. 

Monday  morning,  just  as  the  sun,  bright  and  clear, 
was  peeping  above  the  eastern  range  of  mountains,  glint- 
ing his  luminous  rays  across  the  frost-laden  earth, 
besparkling  it  with  myriads  of  glittering  gems,  Tom  and 
his  little  companion  set  out  for  Las  Animas. 

The  morning  air  was  cool  and  invigorating  and  their 
spirits  high,  for  the  bright  prospects  of  future  success  in 
carrying  out  their  work  of  vengeance  were  now,  by  the 
discovery  which  they  had  just  made,  doubly  assured,  and 
they  pressed  forward  eagerly  upon  their  journey. 

"You  see  now,  don't  you,  Kid,  that  we  will  gain  by 
coming  here?"  asked  Tom,  '-even  if  it  has  delayed  the 
completion  of  your  work,  which  I  very  much  doubt.  We 
have  the  means  now,  or  will  have  in  a  few  days,  and 
nothing  on  earth  can  prevent  us  from  following  those  vil- 
lains and  bringing  them  to  book." 

"Oh,  I  knew  that  you  were  doing  the  very  best  that 
you  could.  I  did  n't  mean  to  complain,  Tom;  and,  if 
ever  I  showed  by  act  or  word  that  I  was  impatient  or  dis- 
satisfied, I  am  very  sorry,  for  I  did  not  intend.  I  know 
that  this  is  the  best  thing  which  we  could  have  done. 
But  what  shall  we  do  next,  Tom?  You  doubtless  have  a 
plan  of  campaign  arranged." 

"Planning,  Kid,  is  the  least  of  my  troubles,  and  I 
have  planned  what  to  do  next.  We  will  go  down  to  Las 
Animas,  and,  if  we  can  't  get  any  information  about  our 


128  TENTING   AT   LAS   ANIMAS. 

friends,  we  will  let  them  go  for  a  while.  We  will  dis- 
pose of  our  property  here,  and  then  we  can  go  where  we 
please  and  stay  as  long  as  we  please.  We  won't  have 
a  thing  to  bother  us." 

"Well,  I  am  satisfied,"  assented  the  Kid.  "You 
know  best  what  we  ought  to  do." 

And  so,  as  Tom  had  planned,  they  hurried  on  and 
soon  arrived  at  Las  Animas. 

Purposely  arriving  in  town  in  the  evening,  they  im- 
mediately repaired  to  the  Casino  to  learn  what  they  could 
of  Faro  Bill  and  his  accomplices.  But  only  one  thing 
could  they  find  out.  Faro  Bill  had  been  seen  in  Las 
Animas  but  once  since  the  night  of  the  Kid's  escape  from 
the  "Orphans'  Home."  He  had  disposed  of  his  property 
there  and  left,  and  no  one  knew  where  he  had  gone. 

Nothing  now  remained  for  the  avengers  but  to  fix  up 
their  financial  affairs  and  begin  the  search  as  best  they 
could.  This  they  set  themselves  about  in  the  manner 
already  planned  by  Torn.  They  announced  the  discov- 
ery of  the  mine,  and  led  thither  the  fortune  seekers. 


DISCOVERY    ANNOUNCED.  131 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


TOM  WESTON  TALKS    OF    THE   FUTURE,   WHICH  CAUSES  THE 
KID    MUCH     EMBARRASSMENT. 

The  news  that  a  rich  mine  had  been  found  up  in  the 
mountains  spread  like  wildfire,  and  by  the  time  the  Kid 
and  Tom  were  ready  to  return  a  thousand  people  were 
prepared  to  accompany  them. 

At  evening  of  the  second  day's  journey  they  again 
drew  up  in  front  of  their  little  log  cabin;  but  this  time 
they  were  not  alone. 

Hungry  and  weary,  the  pioneers  partook  of  an  im- 
provised supper  and  then  retired  for  the  night.  The  Kid 
climbed  up  to  his  cozy  little  nest,  and  almost  before  his 
head  touched  the  hard  pillow  made  from  some  of  his 
cast-off  garments  he  was  sleeping. 

Awaking  next  morning,  he  was  surprised  to  see,  down 
in  the  valley  which  the  evening  before  had  been  a  barren 
waste,  a  city  of  more  than  six  hundred  inhabitants.  A 
wonderful  transformation  scene  had  been  enacted  while 
he  was  sleeping. 

The  contention  and  strife  of  the  next  few  days  beg- 
gar description.  It  would  be  a  chapter  of  plotting  and 
intrigue — of  might  against  right — and  where  might  too 
often  prevailed.  It  was  a  succession  of  dark  crimes, 
bloodshed  and  murders. 

Here  fortunes  were  lost  and  made.  Some  came  poor 
and  went  away  rich,  while  others  came  rich  and  went 


132 


THE     GREAT     DAM. 


away  poor.     But  this  is  the  lot  of  man  in  all  new  mining 
districts. 

And  so  here,  in  this  deep  and  narrow  valley,  in  the 
course  of  three  or 
four  months,  and 
before  the  open- 
ing of  Spring,  had 
sprung  up  a  mush- 
room city  of  over 
2,400  souls. 

Half  a  mile 
above  the  city,  a 
great  dam  had 
been  constructed 
for  hydraulic  min- 
ing purposes.  This 
dam  at  one  point 
reached  the  height 
of  eighty  feet,  and 
stretched  across 
the  most  narrow 
part  of  the  valley. 
This  and  a  vast 
amount  of  other 
preparatory  work 
had  been  rapidly 
completed  during  the  pleasant  Winter  months,  and  now, 
as  Spring  began  and  the  mines  were  opened  up,  the  hum 
and  roar  of  a  busy  city  awakened  the  echoes  of  the  long 
silent  hills. 


DOWN  IN  THE  VALLEY. 


THE     KID     IMPATIENT.  133 

About  this  time,  one  beautiful  morning,  when  the 
snow  was  fast  fading  from  the  hills,  and  along  the  sunny 
side  of  sheltered  nooks  the  first  wild  flowers  of  Spring 
began  to  show  themselves,  the  Kid  returned  from  a  ram- 
ble, and,  placing  a  bunch  of  the  flowers  which  he  had 
gathered  in  a  cup  in  the  window,  he  turned  to  his  com- 
panion arid  said: 

"Tom,    they  say  that   the  great  dam  is   all  finished 

now,  and  is  nearly  full  of  water.      Will  you  go  up  there 

with  me?    I  want  to  see  it,  but  I  don't  like  to  go  alone." 

-   "All  right,  Kid,"  said  Tom,  reaching  for  his  hat  and 

gun.      "I  '11  go  with  you.      Come  on." 

A  walk  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  up  the  small  stream 
brought  them  to  the  dam. 

Standing  upon  the  top  of  the  dam,  they  beheld  lying 
placidly  before  them  a  beautiful  little  lake,  stretching  its 
shining  and  mirror-like  surface  for  a  mile  up  the  valley 
and  widening  out  in  its  greatest  breadth  to  nearly  half  a 
mile. 

"Oh,  is  n't  it  lovely!"  exclaimed  the  boy.  "If  we 
only  had  a  boat  now,  we  could  take  a  sail." 

"If  we  were  going  to  stay  here  for  any  length  of  time 
we  would  have  one,"  declared  Torn. 

'  'Ah,  yes!  That  makes  me  remember  we  have  work 
to  do.  Come,  Tom;  let  us  go  home.  I  am  impatient  to 
be  at  work  again." 

"We  will  soon  be  ready,  Kid.  I  have  sold  our  prop- 
erty, and  the  papers  are  ready  for  our  signatures  to  close 
the  bargain.  We  get  $200,000  for  it.  Now,  I  will  tell 
you  what  we  will  do  with  our  money:  Just  as  soon  as 


134  TH£     TELL-TALE     BLUSH. 

we  finish  our  work,  we  will  go  to  California  and  purchase 
a  little  fruit  farm  somewhere  near  the  coast,  and  then- 
well,  I  '11  tell  you,  Kid — I  don't  suppose  that  I  will  ever 
get  married.  I  don't  take  much  after  the  girls.  Of 
course,  I  like  them;  they  are  all  right,  and  all  that.  But 
— oh,  well!  I  don't  want  to  be  tied  down  just  yet— that 's 
all.  But,  of  course,  you  will  get  married;  and  then  I 
can  live  with  you — be  rich  old  uncle,  you  see." 

'  'Oh,  I  have  no  doubt  you  've  got  it  all  figured  out 
satisfactorily  to  yourself;  but 

"What!"  interrupted  Tom.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  this  plan  would  not  be  satisfactory  to  you?  A 
pretty  little  wife — for  she  must  be  pretty — and.  by-and- 
by,  one  of  those  abominable  little  critters  that  every  well 
regulated  bachelor  abhors.  But,  then — of  course,  I  can 
stand  it  if  you  can.  Thunder  and  mud!  Kid,  what  's 
the  matter  with  you?  You  are  blushing  like  a  school 
girl!  You — well!  I '11  quit.  Comeback,  Kid;  don't  run 
off  and  leave  me.  We  can  talk  about  some  thing  else. 
The  first  thing  that  we  must  do  is  to  go  and  have  those 
papers  fixed  up." 

Tom  led  the  way  to  the  notary's  office.  After  sign- 
ing the  papers,  they  received  their  money  in  full. 

"Now,"  said  Tom,  when  the  two  were  again  seated 
in  the  log  cabin,  "we  are  quj,te  ready  to  begin  operations, 
and  we  will  begin  without  delay.  Early  in  the  morning 
we  will  start  for  Las  Animas,  and  from  there  we  will  take 
up  the  trail  and  follow  it  to  the  end.  Let  them  go  where 
they  may,  they  can  't  escape  us.  They  are  our  victims." 


•THE  MAN  BENT  FORWARD  WITH  THE  FLAMING  MATCH." 
-136- 


SEEKING    COVER.  137 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


JIM    MADISON    SUSPECTS    THE    KID*S     RIGHT    TO    WEAR    THE 
BIFURCATED  GARMENT — RILEY's  AWFUL  SCHEME. 

About  two  hours  after  Tom  Weston  rescued  the  Kid 
from  the  resort  which  the  gang  had  ironically  dubbed  the 
"Orphans'  Home,"  Las  Animas  was  rid  of  three  hard 
citizens — Faro  Bill,  Jim  Madison  and  One-Eyed  Riley. 

Faro  Bill  had  declared:  "It  's  no  use;  we  Ve  got  to 
'git  up  and  git.'  And  the  quicker  we  commence  to  git, 
the  better  and  safer  will  it  be  for  us.  But  the  question 
is,  where  shall  we  go?" 

"I  will  tell  you  where,  in  my  opinion,  we  had  better 
go,"  said  Jim.  "Let  us  go  up  to  the  old  'Mission,' 
where  I  stayed  last  Winter.  "We  will  be  safe  there,  and 
the  boys  will  be  glad  to  have  us  back  again." 

"That  's  my  opine,  tew,"  assented  Riley.  "Let  's  go 
up  thar  an'  stay  till  this  air  racket  is  over.  After  things 
cool  off  a  leetle,  we  kin  cum  back." 

"But  there  is  one  thing,  boys,  that  we  have  got  to  do 
if  it  takes  us  all  the  Fall,  and  this  is  to  find  the  remains 
of  old  John  Beaty,"  declared  Jim.  "His  body  must  be 
found  before  we  do  any  thing  else.  Not  a  minute  are  we 
safe  as  long  as  that  knife  is  left  unfound.  I  know  well, 
whenever  his  body  is  found,  that  knife  will  be  found,  too; 
and  it  is  evidence  sufficient  to  convict  us.  Tom  Weston 
will  search  for  that  body  the  very  first  thing  that  he  does. 
If,  by  -  — ,  he  should  find  that  knife,  Arizona  would 
not  hold  me  two  hours!" 


138  THE     TRIANGLE     CONFERS. 

"It  can  't  worse  matters  much,"  said  Faro  Bill.  "He 
swore  that  he  would  kill  us  if  we  had  any  thing  to  do  with 
the  disappearance  of  the  Kid.  He  knows  all  about  it 
now,  and  I  believe  that  he  will  keep  his  word.  He  must 
be  put  out  of  the  way.  It  's  the  one  thing  left  for  us  to 
do,  and  it  's  got  to  be  done." 

"'Fyer  'd  a-done 's  I  wanted  yer  tew,  in  the  lust 
place,  'n'  laid  that  Kid  away,  we  'd  a-had  no  trouble 
a-tall.  But  's  'tis,  we  're  in  for  't,  an'  I  b'lieve  as  Faro 
does — that  it  '11  make  no  differ'nce  'bout  that  air  knife. 
Ef  it  's  so  'bout  ther  Kid  's  bein'  ole  Beaty's  boy,  all 
Tophet  can  't  stop  'em  frum  follerin'  arter  us.  By— 

"But  I  tell  you,"  said  Jim,  interrupting  the  vitriolic 
but  frightened  Riley,  "that  old  Beaty  did  n't  leave  any 
boy.  He  is  not  a  Beaty.  He  's  some  'Smart  Aleck' 
that  is  playing  detective.  In  old  Beaty's  family  there 
were  three  children,  all  told.  Two  of  them  are  dead;  so 
there  is  but  one  left,  and  that  one  is  a  girl." 

"A  girl!"  exclaimed  Faro  Bill.  "Who  knows  but 
this  Kid  is  a  girl?  What  for  a-looking  girl  was  she,  Jim?" 

"She  's  a  beauty!"  exclaimed  Jim.  "Blue  eyes,  dark- 
brown  hair — 

"So  's  ther  Kid!"  interrupted  Riley.  "An'  that  ex- 
plains ther  racket  down  tew  ther  'Orphans'  Home. '  Kate, 
she  jes'  swore  that  ther  Kid  war  n't  no  boy." 

"When  did  she  say  that?"  demanded  Jim,  excitedly. 
"Jes'  ter  night — when  I  went  down  thar, "  answered 
Riley. 

"Thunder  and  lightning!"  yelled  Jim.  "Why  could  n't 
we  have  known  this  before?  I  swear,  boys,  I  believe  the 


THE     LAND     PIRATES       RENDEZVOUS 


139 


Kid  is  Edith  Beaty  disguised  as  a  boy.  She  always  was, 
in  her  actions,  more  boyish  than  girlish,  anyway;  and  the 
old  man  used  to  call  her  his  boy.  I  never  could  get  a 
good,  square  look  at 
that  Kid,  and  I  al- 
ways noticed  that  he 
acted  queer.  By — -!" 
cried  Jim,  with  a 
fearful  oath,  and 
there  was  a  wricked 
gleam  in  his  snaky 


THE  MISSION. 


eye,  "I  will 
give  a  thou- 
sand dollars  to  get 
hold  of  that  girl.' 

"Oh,  we  've  got 
some  thing  beside 
girls  to  think  about 


just  now,"  said  Faro,   impatiently.      "We  've  got  to  get 
out  of  here,  the  first  thing  we  do;  so  let  's  be  off." 

Riley  and  Jim  were  of  like  mind,  and  twenty  minutes 


I4O  FUGITIVES     HEAR     THE     NEWS. 

later  they  were  speeding  rapidly   away  toward   the   old 
Mission. 

The  Mission  was  a  large,  low  adobe  structure,  built 
—so  tradition  ran — many  years  before  by  a  band  of  land 
pirates,  who,  under  the  guise  of  miners  and  ranchmen, 
made  it  their  home  while  they  watched  the  trails  leading 
to  the  mines  in  different  parts  of  the  country.  The  band 
had  been  broken  up,  or  partially  so,  at  least;  but  there 
were  plenty  of  men  who  would  say  that  the  old  Mission 
was  still  the  rendezvous  of  a  band — a  sort  of  brotherhood 
— of  men  who,  if  the  truth  were  known,  would  soon  find 
themselves  behind  prison  bars  or  dangling  from  the  scaf- 
fold with  a  rope  about  their  necks.  Yet  no  one  could  be 
found  to  testify  against  them. 

The  Mission,  like  all  old  places  in  this  country,  had 
many  strange  stories  connected  with  its  history.  It  was 
said  that  many  a  traveler  who  had  entered  there  never 
was  seen  or  heard  of  after. 

It  was  to  this  place  that  the  trio  of  fugitives  went. 
Here  they  were  welcomed  as  brothers — as,  indeed,  they 
were;  for  they  belonged  to  the  brotherhood. 

Here  for  six  weeks  they  had  made  their  home,  and 
in  the  meantime  Faro  Bill  had  made  a  flying  visit  to  Las 
Animas,  and  had  disposed  of  all  his  property  there. 

Although,  up  to  within  a  few  days,  they  had  heard 
nothing  of  Tom  Weston  and  the  Kid,  the)'  now  got  wind 
of  the  discovery  of  the  new  mines  and  the  great  rush  to 
them,  for  many  had  left  the  Mission  to  go  there.  Still, 
they  did  not  dare  to  return  to  Las  Animas  to  stay,  for 
fear  Tom  might  return  there  in  search  of  them;  so  they 
had  sold  out  and  left  there. 


THE     BROTHERHOOD     AROUSED.  14! 

Along  about  the  first  days  of  Spring,  the  brotherhood 
were  thrown  into  a  feverish  state  of  excitement  by  the 
news  that  six  of  their  members  who  had  gone  to  the  new 
mines  had  been  caught  "sluice  robbing,"  and  had  been 
hanged  in  the  public  streets  of  the  new  mining  town. 
This  act  of  summary  vengeance  on  the  part  of  the  en- 
raged miners  called  for  retaliation  from  the  brotherhood. 
Every  member  of  this  order  was  sworn,  upon  penalty  of 
death,  to  avenge  the  death  of  any  member,  no  matter 
what  his  crime  may  have  been. 

Now,  it  was  well  known  to  the  trio  of  fiends  that 
Tom  Weston  and  the  Kid  were  living  at  the  new  mining 
town,  and  herewith  sprang  up  a  new  hope.  They,  or  at 
least  Tom — for  Jim  had  resolved  to  spare  the  Kid  for  his 
especial  disposal,  since  he  had  become  convinced  that 
this  interesting  personage  was  none  other  than  pretty 
Miss  Edith  Beaty  in  disguise — could  easily  be  included 
among  the  ones  marked  as  objects  of  the  brotherhood's 
vengeance. 

A  meeting  was  immediately  called,  and  when  all  the 
members  were  present  and  the  formal  opening  was  fin- 
ished, the  president  announced  the  special  business  before 
the  house  and  for  which  the  meeting  was  called. 

In  as  few  words  as  possible,  the  business  was  laid  be- 
fore the  house  and  discussed.  Many  plans  of  procedure 
were  offered,  but  all  seemed  more  or  less  objectionable. 
Finally  One-Eyed  Riley  rose  to  the  occasion  and  thus 
addressed  his  fellow  renegades: 

"Brothers,  I  have  a  plan.  I  have  been  a  member  of 
this  air  'ciety  fer  nigh  on  ter  ten  year,  an'  I  've  seen  some 


142  RILEY  S  LISTENERS  SAVA. 

things  did  an'  other  things  as  what  oughter  be  did;  but 
this  air  's  the  wust  of  'em  all,  an'  it  calls  fer  vengeance. 

"Brothers,  I  have  a  plan,  and  it  '11  work  two  ways. 
It  '11  give  us  vengeance  an'  it  '11  give  us  gold — millions  of 
it!  My  plan  's  this:  Pick  twenty  men  an'  send  'em  up 
thar;  let  'em  put  er  charge  of  giant  powder  in  that  air 
dam  an'  touch  'er  off,  an'  we  '11  have  a  nuther  Johnstown 
flood.  What  's  easier  ter  dew?  Nuthin'.  What  then? 
Not  a  soul  will  escape.  What  next?  Thar  's  millions  of 
gold  thar.  Twenty  men  kin  dew  ther  work  in  one  night 
and  have  every  thing  ready  ter  light  ther  fuse  by  day- 
light. Then  what?  The  rest  of  us  kin  go  up  an'  be  thar 
by  daylight,  so  's  to  help  the  sufferers  and  rescue  things 
giner'ly.  Sava?1' 

And  the  fiend's  eye  gleamed  triumphantly. 

Every  member  listened  with  bated  breath  to  the  hell- 
ish plan  of  the  demon  incarnate.  Horrified — almost 
paralyzed — though  they  were,  yet  when  Riley  had  fin- 
ished his  recital  of  all  the  necessary  details  and  declared 
that  the  crime  would  be  considered  an  accident,  arising 
from  some  defect  in  the  dam,  not  one  in  all  that  assem- 
bly demurred. 

In  accordance  with  the  plan,  the  twenty  men  were 
picked,  among  whom  were  Faro  Bill  and  the  diminutive 
specimen.  Jim  Madison  was  fortunate  enough  to  escape 
the  conscription. 

At  last  the  night  chosen  for  the  horrible  work  arrived 
and  all  was  in  readiness.  Armed  with  Winchester  rifles, 
the  twenty  men  stood  in  a  group  on  the  dam.  The 
charge  of  giant  powder  had  been  placed  and  firmly 


WITH  MATCH  IN  HAND.  •  143 

tamped;  the  fuse  was  laid  and  ready,  and  the  man,  with 
match  in  hand,  stood  awaiting  the  signal  to  light  the  fuse. 

Presently  a  man  who  had  been  posted  as  a  guard  at 
the  town,  with  orders  to  return  at  daylight,  returned  and 
reported  that  all  was  quiet;  that  the  people,  all  unsus- 
picious of  danger,  were  wrapt  in  slumber;  not  a  soul  was 
stirring. 

Dark  and  dreary  was  the  night — just  such  a  night  as 
befitted  a  deed  so  foul.  Despite  a  cloudless  sky,  the 
stars,  as  though  shrinking  from  witnessing  such  a  terri- 
ble scene,  seemed  to  fade  from  sight,  and  now,  when  all 
was  reported  ready,  they  were  no  longer  visible. 

A  better  night  for  the  consummation  of  such  a  fiend- 
ish plot  could  not  possibly  have  been  chosen.  And,  as 
if  to  further  aid  and  shield  the  demons  in  their  work, 
the  wind  had  risen  to  a  high  velocity  and  came  down 
from  the  mountain  peaks  through  the  deep  canyons  with 
a  rush  and  roar  sufficient  to  drown  all  sounds  made  by 
the  demon  workers. 

The  man,  watch  in  hand,  stood  ready,  and  at  a  signal 
from  the  captain  stepped  quickly  forward  and  stooped 
down  to  light  the  fuse  which,  in  a  moment,  would  con- 
vey the  spark  to  the  mine,  and  then,  as  the  dam  would 
give  way,  the  mad  rush  of  waters  would  hurl  itself  upon 
the  sleeping  city. 

A  moment  more,  and  all  would  be  over.  The  men 
had  already  begun  to  move  away,  when,  for  a  moment, 
the  flare  of  the  lighted  match  lit  up  the  scene.  The  man 
bent  forward  and  stretched  out  his  hand  with  the  flaming 
match  to  light  the  fuse. 


144  TO     THE     MISSION. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


TOM    AND    THE    KID     SAVE    A    TOWN THE     FORMER     MAKES 

A    MOST    STARTLING    DISCOVERY. 

The  next  morning  after  Tom  and  the  Kid  had  visited 
the  dam  and,  later  in  the  day,  had  disposed  of  all  their 
mining  claims  for  $200,000  cash,  they  set  out  again  for 
Las  Animas,  fi  lly  prepared  and  equally  determined  to 
take  up  the  trail  of  the  murderers  and  pursue  them  to  the 
end. 

In  two  days  they  reached  Las  Animas,  but  were  dis- 
appointed on  learning  that  none  of  the  men  whom  they 
were  seeking  had  been  there  for  some  time.  Dutch  John 
had  been  there  until  within  a  few  days,  but  he,  also,  had 
departed,  and  no  one  knew  where  he  had  gone.  But  in 
the  course  of  the  day  enough  was  learned  to  convince 
Tom  that  the  fugitives  had  been,  up  to  within  the  past 
few  days,  sojourning  at  the  Mission. 

"It  's  risky,  Kid,"  declared  Tom,  "but  I  can  see  no 
help  for  it.  We  must  go  up  there." 

And  they  went  up  to  the  Mission. 

Neither  Tom  Weston  nor  the  Kid,  as  we  have  repeat- 
edly seen,  was  to  be  deterred  from  entering  upon  any 
undertaking  because  there  was  danger  connected  with  it. 
And  now  they  set  their  faces  toward  the  old  Mission  as 
fearlessly  and  unhesitatingly  as  though  no  danger  was  to 
be  encountered  there. 

"We  will  encounter  danger,  no  matter  where  we  go," 
said  the  Kid.  "We  will  expect  danger  there,  and,  for 


AN    INTERCEPTED    TIP.  147 

this  reason,  we  will  be  the  better  prepared  for  it.     Per- 
haps we  are  less  liable  to  get  hurt  there  than  elsewhere." 

Fortunately,  this  proved  to  be  the  case.  Still,  they 
were  very  guarded  in  their  movements  when,  the  follow- 
ing evening,  after  a  long,  hard  day's  ride,  they  entered 
the  outskirts  of  the  Mission. 

Riding  up  to  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  town, 
they  camped.  After  eating  supper,  they  leisurely  strolled 
up  to  the  Mission. 

It  was  dark  now,  and  little  about  the  place  could  be 
seen  distinctly;  but  Tom  had  been  there  before,  and  he 
knew  just  where  he  wanted  to  go.  He  had  no  difficulty 
in  finding  the  old  adobe  structure,  which  was  made  to 
serve  every  purpose  of  a  public  nature — reputable  and 
disreputable.  Under  the  latter  head,  it  was  used  by  the 
brotherhood  as  an  incubator  for  criminal  plottings. 

Just  as  they  approached  the  Mission,  a  man  came  out 
of  the  door  and  walked  hastily  away.  His  appearance 
and  actions  scarcely  attracted  Tom's  attention,  but  as  he 
turned  from  the  door  a  piece  of  paper  which  had  been 
carelessly  thrust  into  his  pocket  and  which  had  been 
drawn  out  as  the  man  removed  his  hand  was  seen  by  the 
ever-watchful  Tom  to  flitter  for  a  moment  and  fall  to  the 
ground. 

Quickly  Tom  stooped  and  picked  up  the  bit  of  paper. 
It  was  addressed  to  Jim  Madison.  In  a  whisper  he  ex- 
claimed: 

"By  thunder!  Kid,  see!  We  are  on  the  right  track 
now!  Come  in  here,  and  let  us  see  what  is  in  this  note." 

On  entering  the  bar  room,  Tom  was  greatly  surprised 


148  LOLA'S  FATAL  LETTER. 

at  seeing  it   nearly  deserted.     Not  a  half-dozen  people 
were  there. 

"Some  thing  is  up — mischief  is  afloat,"  mused  Tom. 
"The  boys  are  out  on  some  kind  of  an  expedition,  or  we 
would  surely  find  them  here.  But  the  note — let  us  read 
it."  It  ran: 

"HEARTS'  NEST. 

"DEAR  JIM:     Meet  me  tonight  at  my  place.     The  boys  are  all  away. 
They  have  ^one,  you  know,  up  to  the  new  mines,  and  John  has  gone  with 
them.     Tonight,  you  know,  is  the  night  set  to  blow  up  the  dam.     It  is 
lucky  you  did  not  have  to  go  with  them.     John  told  me  all  about  it.     He 
says  that  they  will  blow  it  up  just  at  daylight.    So,  you  see,  you  will  have 
plenty  of  time  to  stop  an  hour  or  so  with  me  before  you  will  have  to  star 
up  there.     You  don't  need  to  get  there  till  daylight.     Be  sure  to  come. 
"Yours  on  the  Q.  T.,  LOLA." 

Without  a  sign  of  the  intense  emotion  which  he  felt 
at  the  horrible  revelation  of  the  note,  he  folded  it  quietly 
and  placed  it  in  his  pocket.  Giving  the  Kid  a  significant 
look,  he  started  for  the  door. 

As  soon  as  they  had  reached  the  street,  he  seized  the 
Kid's  arm  in  his  iron  grip  and  whispered: 

"Quick,  my  lad!     Back  to  our  camp!" 

As  they  hurried  along,  Tom  acquainted  his  compan- 
ion with  the  contents  of  the  note. 

"O  my  God!"  cried  the  terrified  boy.  "What  shall 
we  do?  O  Tom,  we  can  never  get  there  in  time  to  save 
them!" 

"We  must!"  answered  Tom. 

"But  it  's  nearly  sixty  miles,  and  we  have  ridden  our 
horses  hard  all  day.  O  God,  help  us!  The  critters  can 
never  make  it!" 


A     LATE     START.  149 


"But  they  shall!"  said  Tom.  "There  is  no  alterna- 
tive; they  shall  do  it." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  their  camp.  Hastily 
replacing  the  saddles  on  their  already  tired  horses,  they 
mounted  and  rode  away  swiftly,  leaving  every  article  of 
luggage  except  their  guns. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  they  set  out  on  their  "race 
for  life. "  On — on  they  dashed  over  hill  and  dale,  tra- 
versing now  a  thickly  studded  forest,  and  next  galloping 
over  a  plain. 

Still  onward  the)'  urged  their  jaded  and  foaming 
steeds.  Two  hours  had  passed,  and  still  they  pressed 
forward. 

Now  they  had  come  within  sight  of  a  high  ridge — an 
elevation  which  they  knew  to  be  half-way.  Its  dim  out- 
line showed  against  the  sky,  and,  though  it  appeared  to 
be  close  by,  it  was  several  miles  away;  for  when  at  last 
they  reached  its  summit  it  was  long  after  midnight. 

Here  they  dismounted.  "We  will  stop  a  little  while 
and  let  our  horses  breathe,"  said  Tom.  "Half  the  dis- 
tance is  covered,  but  the  roughest  part  of  the  road  is  yet 
before  us.  I  know  a  short  cut  across  that  will  save  us 
about  five  miles,  and  I  think'we  can  gain  time  by  going 
that  way.  Come  on." 

Both  remounted  and  dashed  away  again. 

Leaving  the  road,  they  followed  along  the  ridge  for 
several  miles;  then  they  turned  down  toward  the  valley. 
They  urged  their  panting  horses  swiftly  on  over  the  un- 
even ground — at  times  in  the  open,  again  through  the 
timber. 


I5O  SWIMMING. 


"Look,  Tom!"  exclaimed  the  Kid,  as  they  dashed 
down  into  the  valley.  "Here  we  are  at  the  river,  and  it 
is  up  out  of  its  banks!" 

"We  can  cross  it  all  right,"  declared  Tom. 

"We  must  cross,"  cried  the  dauntless  lad,  dashing 
fearlessly  forward. 

"We  can  make  it,"  said  Tom.  "Our  horses  are  both 
good  swimmers.  Hear!  Give  me  your  halter  rope.  I 
will  tie  your  horse  to  my  saddle.  There,  now!  We  will 
go  together,  whether  it  be  to  the  other  side  or  to  eter- 
nity." 

Fearlessly  they  entered  the  water  and  struck  boldly 
out  for  the  other  side.  Wading  for  some  distance,  they 
finally  reached  deep  water,  and  their  horses  began  swim- 
ming. 

Slipping  off  their  horses  to  allow  them  more  ease  in 
swimming,  they  clung  to  their  saddles  and  swam  along- 
side their  faithful  steeds. 

So  dark  was  the  night  that  it  was  impossible  to  see 
whither  they  were  going.  Nothing  but  the  raging  and 
foaming  wilderness  of  waters  about  them  could  be  seen, 
yet  the  direction  of  the  current  guided  them  across.  At 
last,  though  it  seemed  a  long  time  to  the  anxious  friends, 
they  reached  the  opposite  shore,  and,  for  a  moment, 
paused  to  rest  their  horses. 

"Now, "  said  Tom,  "commences  the  hardest  part  of 
the  road.  But  we  can  make  it — we  will  make  it." 

And,  addressing  a  few  words  of  cheer  to  their  horses, 
they  remounted  and  pressed  on  again. 

On  and  up  the  steep  mountain  side,   anon  dismount- 


DRAWING     NEAR. 


ing  and  leading  their  horses  aroupd  some  obstruction, 
again  running  alongside  in  order  to  lighten  their  load  for 
a  spell,  then  mounting  and  dashing  away  at  a  break-neck 
speed  down  some  steep  declivity  or  through  some  open 
space. 

At  last,  their  horses  quivering  in  every  limb  from  the 
fatiguing  strain  consequent  upon  that  long  and  steep 
ascent,  they  reached  the  summit  of  the  range  just  west 
of  the  new  mining  town  of  Ruby  Gulch  as  the  camp  was 
called. 

Catching  a  few  long  breaths  here,  they  rushed  down 
the  steep  mountain  side.  Now  dismounting  to  lead  their 
horses  around  a  dangerous  rock  and  then  remounting, 
they  dashed  away  again. 

On  they  flew  till,  within  a  half-mile  of  the  dam,  they 
emerged  from  the  forest  into  the  main  road  just  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  from  town. 

"Kid!"  sung  out  Tom,  whose  horse  was  now  lagging 
behind,  "My  horse  is  failing.  Check  up  a  little,  and  we 
will  give  him  time  to  get  his  wind." 

But  the  noble  animal  was  almost  beyond  breathing. 
Scarcely  had  Tom  ceased  speaking  when,  staggering  for 
a  moment,  as  if  striving  to  obey  his  master  even  in  death, 
the  noble  brute  fell — to  rise  no  more. 

"Ride,  Kid!  Ride  on  and  give  the  alarm.  I  will  go 
across  to  the  dam,  and  see  what  I  can  do.  Ride  through 
the  town  and  call  the  people  out.  Tell  them  to  flee  to 
the  hills.  If  they  have  n't  broken  the  dam  by  the  time  I 
get  there,  you  will  hear  my  gun  speaking.  If  you  hear 
me,  gather  a  few  men  and  bring  them  up.  Be  quick,  my 
lad!" 


152  TOM'S  UNERRING  BEAD. 

But  the  noble  lad  needed  no  urging.  Putting'spurs 
to  his  horse,  he  dashed  away,  and  soon  disappeared  from 
view. 

Tom  Weston  was  as  strong  and  as  swift  of  foot  as  he 
was  brave,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  he  had  made 
his  appearance  in  the  deep,  narrow  valley  just  below  the 
imperiled  dam. 

As  he  turned  down  into  the  gulch  from  the  ravine 
which  he  had  been  following,  and  scarcely  twenty  yards 
below  the  foot  of  the  dam,  he  beheld  a  sight  which  sent 
a  thrill  of  despair  to  his  heart. 

Brave  and  dauntless  man  though  he  was,  his  heart 
sunk  with  a  feeling  of  horror.  But  it  was  for  a  moment 
only.  Before  him  he  saw  the  great  dam,  towering  like 
a  huge  wall  eighty  feet  above  him.  He  saw  the  outlaws 
moving  rapidly  across  the  dam  toward  the  opposite  side. 
One  man  only  remained.  And  just  as  Tom  turned  into 
the  gulch  below,  this  man,  with  a  lighted  match  in  his. 
hand,  stooped  down  and  stretched  his  hand  out  to  light 
the  fuse. 

For  a  moment  the  flare  of  the  match  lit  up  the  scene, 
and  Tom  plainly  saw  the  man's  features — the  features  of 
Faro  Bill. 

Just  as  the  hand  reached  out  to  light  the  fuse,  Tom's 
keen  eye  glanced  along  the  barrel  of  his  deadly  Win- 
chester and  his  ringer  pressed  the  trigger. 

A  blinding  flash,  a  deafening  report,  followed  by  a 
wild,  shrill  scream  of  mortal  terror,  and  the  man  on  the 
dam  sprang  into  the  air  and  fell  with  a  dull,  sickening 
thud  upon  the  jagged  rocks  eighty  feet  below. 


HUMAN    TARGETS. 


153 


Again  and  again  rang  out  that  thunderous  report  loud 

and  clear  above  the  roar  of  the  wind. 

For  a  moment,  the  outlaws  were  panic  stricken;  but 

soon,  seeing  that  they  were   opposed  by  only  one  man, 

they  rallied  and 
charged  across 
the  dam  full  in 
the  face  of  that 
deadly  fire. 

Twice — thrice 
they  attempted 
to  light  the  fuse; 
but  Tom's  bullet, 
guided  by  the 
flare  of  the  light- 
ed match,  stayed 
the  murderous 
hand. 

"Down  upon 
him!  Rout  him!" 
cried  the  captain. 


•THE  MAN  FELL  WITH  A  SICKENING  THUD.' 


In  response,  they  charged  across  the  dam  and  poured 
a  volley  of  leaden  hail  down  into  the  darkness  below. 
Guided  by  the  flash  of  Tom's  rifle,  they  began  to  clamber 
down,  in  order  to  reach  him. 

With  a  revolver  in  either  hand,  Tom  waited  until 
they  came  within  range;  then  he  renewed  his  deadly  work. 

Dodging  from  rock  to  rock,  Tom  contested  every  foot 
of  the  disputed  ground  until  he  had  reached  the  bottom 


154  TOM     REINFORCED. 

of  the  gulch,  directly  beneath  the  dam.  Here  he  made 
a  stand,  firmly  resolved  that  he  would  not  yield  another 
inch.  He  refilled  the  chambers  of  his  revolvers  and  the 
Winchester  with  fresh  cartridges,  and  met  the  advance 
of  his  foes  with  such  a  deadly  fire  that,  for  a  moment, 
they  faltered.  But  for  the  threats  of  the  captain,  who 
was  exasperated  beyond  measure  and  loudly  swore  that 
he  would  shoot  the  first  coward  who  attempted  to  retreat, 
they  would  have  fled  and  left  the  dauntless  Tom  master 
of  the  field.  Having  successfully  rallied  his  wavering 
host,  the  captain  ordered  another  charge.  But  Tom  was 
ready  now,  and  he  received  them  with  such  deadly  effect 
that  four  of  them  went  down  to  rise  no  more. 

"Curse  the  devil!"  cried  the  captain,  in  very  despera- 
tion. "Onto  him!  Rout  him!  Up  with  you,  there — 
you  cowardly  whelps!  Charge!  I  swear  I  '11  shoot  the 
first  man  that  falters!  Rout  him  out  of  those  rocks!  Up 
there  with  you — you  lubberly  Dutchman!" 

Thus  roared  their  captain.  His  last  remarks  were 
addressed  to  Dutch  John,  whose  courage  was  only  kept 
to  the  sticking  point  by  continuous  prodding. 

But  now,  from  down  the  gulch  toward  town,  came  a 
wild  shout,  and  a  moment  later  the  Kid,  bare-headed  and 
with  coat  off,  and  followed  by  a  half-dozen  men,  dashed 
down  from  the  road  and  charged  upon  the  outlaws. 

"Charge!"  cried  the  dauntless  lad,  and,  bounding  to 
the  front,  he  discharged  his  shotgun  into  the  midst  of  the 
enemy's  ranks. 

For  a  moment  they  scattered,  but,  rallying  again, 
they  met  the  charge,  hoping  by  overwhelming  numbers 


ROUTED.  155 

to  crush  them.  In  the  confusion,  though  it  lasted  but  a 
moment,  the  Kid  and  his  men  had  gained  the  shelter  of 
the  rocks  behind  which  Tom  had  intrenched  himself,  and 
then  began  a  fusillade  which  in  a  few  seconds  resulted  in 
the  death  of  two  of  the  Kid's  men.  And  now,  also,  the 
firing  from  Turn's  rifle  had  ceased,  seeing  which  the  out- 
laws took  courage  and  once  more  formed  for  a  charge. 

"Onto  them!"  yelled  the  leader.  "There  's  but  five 
of  them,  and  one  's  a  kid!  There  's  ten  of  us!  Up — 
every  man  of  you!  Charge!" 

Again  the  desperate  devils  rushed  forward. 

And  again  the  Kid's  double-barreled  shotgun  poured 
its  hail  of  buckshot  into  the  faces  of  the  outlaws,  and, 
springing  upon  a  rock  in  full  view  of  his  men,  he  cried: 

"Stand  your  ground,  men!"  And  again  his  shotgun 
thundered. 

For  a  moment,  brave  men  though  they  were,  it  ap- 
peared that  the  Kid's  men  would  forsake  him.  But  now 
the  Kid's  voice,  piercing  and  fearless,  rose  high  above  the 
din  of  the  conflict: 

"For  God's  sake,  men,  don't  run!  Remember  the 
women  and  children!  Remember  that  you  are  men!" 

Just  as  he  uttered  these  words  the  brave  lad  dropped 
his  gun,  reeled  and  fell.  In  an  instant  he  was  on  his  feet 
again  and,  grasping  his  gun,  discharged  its  contents  full 
into  the  faces  of  the  enemy. 

At  this  juncture  a  score  of  men  from  the  town  came 
down  upon  the  outlaws,  who,  panic  stricken,  turned  and 
fled.  However,  the  recruits  poured  such  a  deadly  fire 
upon  them  as  they  scrambled  up  the  steep  bank  that  all 


156  A     REVELATION. 


except  one  were  either  killed  or  captured.  Ruby  Gulch 
was  saved. 

While  the  home  defenders  were  in  pursuit  of  the 
routed  and  badly  decimated  band,  Kid  crawled  to  where 
he  had  last  seen  the  flash  of  Tom's  rifle.  Here  he  found 
his  friend,  lying  on  a  rock  and  endeavoring  to  stanch  a 
wound  in  his  right  shoulder. 

"O  Tom!     You  arc  hurt  this  time!" 

"Not  very  dangerously,  though.  Are  you  all  right, 
Kid?" 

"Yes.      Where  can  I  find  some  water?" 

"Right  down  there,"  replied  Tom,  pointing  to  the 
foot  of  the  dam.  "Fetch  some  for  me  in  my  hat." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  lad  returned  with  a  hat  full  of 
water,  and  just  as  he  had  placed  it  upon  the  ground  be- 
side his  wounded  friend  he  fell  fainting  at  his  feet. 

"Kid!  O  Kid!"  cried  Tom.  In  a  flash  he  was  upon 
his  knees  beside  the  prostrate  lad. 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  early  morning  Tom  saw  that 
the  boy's  garments  were  soaked  with  blood,  which  flowed 
from  a  bullet  wound  in  his  left  side.  Quickly  loosening 
the  boy's  garment,  exposing  his  bosom  and  wounded  side, 
a  revelation  burst  upon  Tom's  astounded  vision. 

"My  God!"  cried  Tom,  starting  back  in  bewilder- 
ment at  the  revelation  which  the  snow-white  bosom  had 
made.  "My  God!  He's  a  girl!" 


'  'THE  DOCTOR  CAME  EVERY  DAY. 
-158- 


KID     REVIVES.  159 


CHAPTER   XX. 


ONE-EYED     RILEY     PAYS     HIS     DEBTS TOM     WESTON     SUR- 
RENDERS    UNCONDITIONALLY. 

Tom  Weston,  as  events  have  already  proved,  was  a 
man  equal  to  every  occasion,  and  he  was  equal  to  this. 
Not  long  did  he  hesitate,  but  with  deft  and  gentle  fingers 
washed  and  bandaged  the  girl's  wound,  rearranged  her 
clothing  and  then  bathed  her  face  and  hands  with  the 
cool  water  which  she  had  brought. 

The  sun  was  just  rising  as  he  finished  his  task,  and 
now  the  people  from  town  came  crowding  around  them, 
anxious  to  see  the  brave  girl  who  had  done  such  a  heroic 
and  noble  deed. 

Breathlessly  passed  the  whisper  from  lip  to  lip: 

"She  's  only  a  little  girl,  and  she  's  wounded,  too!" 

"Hear,  pard!  Give  'era  swig  o'  this.  It  's  bran- 
dy." An  old  man,  who  had  just  come  up,  handed  Tom 
a  flask. 

A  little  was  given,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  girl 
opened  her  eyes  and  looked  about  her.  Raising  her  eyes 
to  Tom's,  she  asked: 

"Where  are  they?" 

"I  don't  know  yet,  Kid;  but  I  will  see  pretty  soon." 

"Who  's  he  askin'  fer,    pard?"    queried  a  by-stander. 

"The  leaders  of  this  band  of  robbers  who  tried  to 
flood  the  town — Faro  Bill,  Jim  Madison  and  One-Eyed 
Riley,"  answered  Tom. 


I6O  DOCTORS     HOPEFUL. 

"Jim  Madison  is  not  here,  nor  Faro  Bill,  but  we  got 
One-Eyed  Riley  all  right,"  said  the  man,  as  the  guards 
brought  the  one-eyed  demon  forward. 

"Take  that  cutthroat  to  town,"  said  Tom.  "Will 
some  one  help  me  carry  the  Kid  up  to  the  road?" 

Many  willing  hands  were  offered,  and  the  wounded 
life-saver  was  borne  gently  up  the  steep  bank,  placed  in 
a  wagon  and  driven  back  to  Tom's  log  cabin. 

As  they  arrived  at  the  cabin  door,  they  looked  down 
into  the  main  street  of  the  town,  and  they  saw  the  ex- 
cited people  rapidly  gathering.  Wild  and  awful  were  the 
cries  for  vengeance  which  rose  on  the  morning  air  as  the 
infuriated  people  beheld  the  one-eyed  fiend  who  had 
planned  such  a  demon  deed. 

As  the  brave  girl,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  her  com- 
panion, paused  for  a  moment  before  the  cabin  door  to 
look  down  upon  that  wild  and  awful  scene  being  enacted 
in  the  town  below,  the  eyes  of  th,e  people  were  raised 
toward  them,  and  when  they  saw  her  there,  supported 
upon  the  arm  of  manly  Tom  Weston,  they  sent  up  a 
shout  which  seemed  to  shake  the  hills  to  their  founda- 
tions. 

In  a  short  time  the  doctors  who  had  been  sent  for 
arrived  at  the  cabin,  and  soon  had  both  Tom  and  the  Kid 
feeling  quite  comfortable. 

"There,  now!"  said  one  of  the  physicians.  "You 
will  get  along  all  right;  but  I  want  to  tell  you,  little  girl, 
you  came  very  near  being  'sent  across  the  border.'  But 
you  will  get  along  all  right.  We  will  send  up  a  nurse  to 
take  care  of  you.  " 


LYN7CHED. 


161 


As  soon  as  they  were  gone  Tom  arose  from  his  couch 
and  crossed  over  to  the  Kid's  bed.      vSitting  down  beside 

her  and  pointing  to 
the  vast  crowd  of 
people,  whom  they 
could  see  through  the 
open  door,  he  said: 
"See  there,  Kid! 
There  's  the  last  of 


One-Eyed  Riley." 

Gently  Tom  raised   j 

her   a    little,    that    she    i 

could  see.  "THE  LAST  OF  ONE-EYED  RILEY." 

The  Kid  shuddered 
as  she  gazed  through  the  door  down  upon  the  people  be- 


1 62  LONG     CONVALESCENCE. 

low  and  beheld,  high  above  their  heads,  hanging  upon 
an  impromptu  gallows,  the  well-known  figure  of  One- 
Eyed  Riley. 

'•There  's  one  more,"  said  Tom,  as  he  laid  her  gently 
back  upon  her  pillow,  "and  then  our  work  is  done.  But 
there  's  no  hurry;  you  must  get  well  first." 

Wearied  by  her  long  night's  ride,  the  Kid  was  soon 
asleep,  and  in  a  little  while  the  nurse,  an  elderly  lady, 
came. 

"Just  make  yourself  at  home,"  said  Tom.  "You 
won't  have  to  bother  with  me,  but  this  little  girl  will 
have  to  be  cared  for  pretty  well." 

'  'She  shall  have  the  very  best  care  that  I  can  give 
her,  I  assure  you,"  replied  the  nurse,  and  she  did. 

For  three  months  the  Kid  lay  upon  her  bed,  only  as 
she  was  taken  up  by  her  nurse.  But  now  she  could  sit, 
and  for  hours  at  a  time,  and  with  Tom's  assistance  could 
even  walk  about  out-doors  a  little.  Everybody  seemed 
to  be  interested  in  the  recovery  of  the  invalid,  and  each 
day  the  doctor  came  and  carried  word  back  to  town  that 
the  heroine  was  progressing  finely. 

Edith  was  recovering  rapidly  now,  and  her  short 
walks  in  the  open  air  soon  brought  the  color  back  to  her 
pale  cheeks  and  restored  her  appetite  and  strength. 

Tenderly  and  constantly  Tom  wafched  over  the  prog- 
ress of  his  wounded  companion,  and  as  the  days  passed 
and  she  grew  strong  and  the  flush  of  health  and  beauty 
returned  to  her  fair  cheek  and  kindled  anew  the  fire  of 
pride  and  ambition  in  her  dark  eyes,  another  revelation 
burst  like  a  thunder-bolt  upon  Tom's  unwilling  vision. 


'HE  PLACED  THE  THINGS  UPON  THE  TABLE. 
— 164 — 


TOM     IN     LOVE.  165 


Unwilling  vision?  Yes;  it  was  so.  For  Tom,  because 
of  an  affair  which  he  explained  later,  had  forsworn  all 
"sentimental  fancies"  for  the  fair  sex,  declaring  that  he 
would  live  and  die  an  old  bachelor. 

Tom  now  realized  that  he  loved  the  girl  who  had  been 
so  unconventionally  thrown  in  his  company.  Try  as  he 
would,  he  could  not  banish  her  image  from  his  heart. 
That  sweet,  patient  face  was  always  before  him,  sleeping 
or  waking.  Those  dark,  lustrous,  pleading  eyes,  gazing 
so  appealingly  into  his  own,  struck  deep  into  his  heart 
and  he  surrendered  unconditionally. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


TOM  AND  KID  ARRANGE  AN  AFFAIR  OF  THE  HEART  AND 
RENEW  THE  SEARCH  FOR  JIM  MADISON. 

Three  months  had  passed  since  the  battle  at  the  dam, 
and  it  was  May  I — a  beautiful  S"abbath  morning.  All 
Nature  seemed  to  be  rejoicing  at  the  return  of  the  birds 
and  flowers.  The  warm,  bright  sun  was  creeping  well 
toward  the  zenith,  and  the  little  city  lay  quiet  and  peace- 
ful belcw.  The  birds  were  singing  their  first  glad  songs 
of  mating,  and  the  wild  flowers  were  nodding  their  heads 
before  the  cool  mountain  breeze,  when  the  Kid,  lying 
upon  her  little  cot  where  the  warm  sun  peeped  through 
the  open  window  and  danced  about  her  rich  tresses  and 
kissed  her  red  lips,  where  the  soft  breeze,  fragrant  with 
the  perfume  of  the  pine  and  the  fir  and  the  blossoming 
vine,  stole  through  the  half-open  door  and  whispered 


1 66 


A     HAPPY    WAKING. 


- 


' 


sweet  promises  in  her  maiden  ears,  was  awakened  from 
her  happy  dreams.  Opening  wide  her  dreamy  eyes,  she 
gazed  up  into  the  honest  face  of  Tom  Weston. 

"Ah,  Tom!     I  thought  you  were  down-town?" 

"And  so  I  was,  Kid;  but  it  is  dinner-time  and  the 
nurse  is  away,  so  I 
came  home  to  try 
my  hand  at  cook- 
ing. I  will  show 
you  how  I  do  it. 
Are  you  hungry?" 

"Hungry?  Yes, 
indeed.  I  am  al- 
most  famished! 
But  what  have  you 
got  in  that  great 
basket?" 

"Oh,  it'  s  our 
dinner,"  answered 
Tom. 

"And  so  that 's 
the  way  you  cook, 
is  it?  It  's  good, 
anyway,  Tom," 
she  declared,  as  he  placed  the  things  upon  the  table  be- 
side her  bed.  "Cake  and  pie,  toast,  quail,  mountain 
trout,  boiled  eggs!  O  Tom!  You  have  got  away  out- 
side the  doctor's  bill  of  fare!" 

"Eat  a  little  of  all  if  you  want  to,  Kid.    It  won't  hurt 
you,"  urged  Tom. 


SPRING'S  FIRST  BIRDS  AND  FLOWERS. 


KID'S     BOYHOOD     PASSED.  167 

"Tom,  I  was  thinking  today  what  we  should  do.  I 
am  feeling  so  well  now  that  I  am  beginning  to  be  impa- 
tient to  be  at  work  again.  But,  Tom,  how  are  we  to 
manage?  I  can  't  be  a  boy  any  longer  now." 

"I  was  thinking  of  that,  too,  Kid,"  said  Tom,  "and 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  think,  though  I  don't  know  as  you 
will  agree  with  me.  I  think  that  we  had  better  do  just 
as  we  first  planned  to  do;  but  it  will  be  two  months  yet 
before  we  can  do  any  thing.  You  won't  be  able  to  work 
before  that.  But  we  need  not  be  idle;  for,  while  we  are 
waiting,  we  can  be  doing  some  thing  else,  just  as  we  did 
last  Autumn,  when  we  were  waiting  for  our  friends  to 
show  up.  We  came  here,  and  in  a  couple  of  months 
made  us  a  snug  little  fortune.  We  did  not  lose  anytime 
by  it,  either.  It  was  the  very  best  thing  that  we  could 
possibly  have  done." 

"Oh,  I  know  that,  Tom,"  answered  the  Kid.  "I  am 
satisfied  with  your  plans.  You  always  have  every  thing 
planned  beforehand.  But  what  must  we  do  now,  Tom? 
I  can  't  stay  here  and  do  nothing;  I  will  die." 

"I  will  tell  you,  Kid,  what  my  plan  is.  You  remem- 
ber what  I  was  telling  you  about  our  going  to  California? 
Well,  we  will  go  there,  just  as  I  planned,  and  get  us  a 
little  fruit  farm  some  where  near  the  sea  shore  and  build 
us  a  home  on  some  pleasant  bay,  where  we  can  live  in 
peace  and  plenty  the  rest  of  our  days.  I  was  to  be  a  rich 
old  bachelor  uncle,  and  you,  you  know,  was  to  have  a 
pretty  little  wife  and  baby.  Who  could  imagine  a  more 
happy  home?" 

"A  beautiful  vision,  Tom,  but  like  the  most  of  such 
— visionary." 


1 68  TOM'S  TENDER  TREND. 

"Visionary?     No — no,  Kid;  don't  say  that — 

"But,  Tom,"  interrupted  the  Kid,  "I  am  not  a  boy! 
Where,  then,  will  be  your  rich  old  uncle,  your  boy  and 
his  pretty  wife  and — 

"Well?" 

"It  's  all  visionary!" 

"I  will  tell  you,  Kid.  Let  us  go  there,  just  as  we  had 
planned — just  as  I  had  planned,  for  you  never  agreed  to 
that  part  of  it,  though  you  acknowledged  that  it  would 
be  a  very  fine  thing  to  do  if  we  could  only  manage  it. 
Let  us  go  and  find  a  place  that  will  suit  us — I  know  just 
where  there  is  one—  get  it  and  fit  it  up  to  suit  our  fancy, 
and  then,  when  we  are  through  with  this  work,  we  will 
go  there  and  live  just  as  I  had  planned,  save  only  this: 
We  will  have  to  dispense  with  that  venerable  and  alto- 
gether valuable  head  of  the  family- — the  rich  old  uncle. 
But  we  can  have  the  rest  of  the  happy  family,  Kid." 

"Tom — Tom!"  interrupted  the  blushing  girl.  "Wait 
a  little!  I  want  to  think — I — I  want  to  talk  with  you 
about  some  thing  else  first.  You  are  honest  and  true, 
Tom,  I  know,  and  I  believe  that  you  love  me,  or  you 
would  not  tell  me  so." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Kid?"  asked  Tom,  interrupting 
her. 

"We  have  got  our  work  to  do,  Tom.  Wait  until  that 
is  done.  You  have  known  me  as  a  girl  only  a  very  little 
while.  Don't  be  hasty  in  this." 

"Hasty?  I  have  been  with  you  every  day  for  over  a 
year,  Kid. " 

"But  you  did  not  know  that  I  was  a  girl.      Did  you 


THE     OLD     STORY.  169 


ever  suspect  any  thing  of  the  kind,  Tom?"  asked  the 
Kid. 

"No.  But  I  was  a  fool.  I  can  see  it  all  now.  I 
thought  that  you  were  a  queer  boy,  but  the  thought  never 
entered  my  fool  head  what  the  matter  was  with  you." 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me,  Tom,  what  your  plan  is  for 
our  work.  We  must  be  at  it  just  as  soon  as  I  am  able 
to  be  out." 

"That  's  just  what  I  was  telling  you,  Kid,  or  was 
about  to,  when  you  stopped  me.  Let  us  understand  each 
other  now;  then  we  can  go  to  work,  knowing  just  what 
we  are  to  do.  Let  me  finish  my  story  in  my  own  way. 
I  am  a  rough  and  awkward  fellow,  I  know,  and  I  don't 
know  how  to  do  this  thing  in  the  most  approved  style; 
but  I  love  you,  Kid,  as  honestly  and  truly  as  ever  a  girl 
was  loved.  No — no!  Kid,  don't  tell  me  to  stop.  But 
I  see  that  you  don't  want  my  love.  You " 

"O  Tom!  Don't  be  angry  at  me!  You  are  too  hasty 
— too  proud— too  quick  to  jump  at  conclusions.  Don't 
be  angry,  Tom!  Don't  leave  me!  Every  hope  that  I 
have  in  the  world — even  my  life— depends  upon  your 
friendship — your  loyalty!" 

"I  am  not  angry,  Kid;  and,  as  for  my  friendship,  you 
need  make  no  sacrifices.  I  have  given  you  my  word  of 
honor,  and  I  will  keep  it.  Tom  Weston  never  yet  broke 
his  word.  I  will  do  the  work  that  I  started  out  to  do,  if 
God  spares  my  life.  You  need  have  no  fear  of  my  leav- 
ing you  because  you  refuse  me — my  love.  O  Kid!  I 
would  a  thousand  times  rather  that  you  should  refuse  me 
now  than  disappoint  me  by-and-by.  No — no!  Don't 


PLEADING     FOR    DELAY. 


stop  me!  Let  us  understand  each  other  now;  then  we 
will  know  just  what  to  expect.  There  will  be  no  disap- 
pointment." 

"You  wrong  me,  Tom,  by  your  hasty  words;  and,  if 
I  were  as  hasty  as  you,  I  might  resent  them.  O  Tom! 
I  did  not  believe  that  you  could  think  me  so  heartless 
and  cruel  as  you  try  to  make  yourself  believe  I  am!  I 
know  that  you  don't  have  a  very  good  opinion  of  girls; 
but  because  some  girl  has  disappointed  you,  Tom,  is  no 
valid  reason  why  you  should  judge  me  so  harshly.  Girls 
are  not  all  alike,  any  more  than  boys  are.  Come  here, 
Tom,  and  sit  down  beside  me;  I  will  tell  you  why  I  do 
not  want  you  to  ask  me  yet.  You  know,  I  told  you  of 
the  night  my  mother  died  and  the  vow  that  I  made.  I 
can  't  help  it,  Tom,  because  you  love  me  —  no,  I  don't 
want  to  help  it.  Never  think  that,  Tom!  I  can  't  help 
it  because  you  love  me,  nor  I  can  't  help  it  because  I  love 
—  love  you.  But  I  can  do  this:  I  can  ask  you  to  wait 
till  our  work  is  done  —  till  my  vow  is  fulfilled.  And  you 
will  wait  —  won't  you,  Tom?"  And  those  deep,  pleading 
eyes  gazed  wishfully  into  his. 

"Wait?  Yes,  Kid;  I  will  do  any  thing  you  ask.  For- 
give me,  my  brave  little  girl,  for  my  cruel  words!  I  will 
not  ask  you  now;  I  will  be  content.  I  will  wait  till  our 
work  is  done,"  promised  Tom,  earnestly. 

"Thank  you,  Tom;  and  may  God  help  us  to  keep  our 
faith  in  one  another.  I  want  you  to  understand  me,  Tom. 
All  my  hopes  depend  upon  your  loyalty  to  me.  I  want 
you  to  understand  why  I  put  you  off.  Don't  misjudge 
me.  I  don't  refuse  you,  Tom;  remember  that." 


TOM     LONGS     FOR     HOME.  I /I 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Kid;  I  will  not  misjudge  you  again. 
Rest  assured  of  that,"  declared  Tom,  vehemently. 

"We  understand  each  other  now,  Tom,  I  think. 
Now,  when  are  we  to  set  out  in  search  of  our  future 
home,  provided  we  are  fortunate  enough  to  live  to  enjoy 
it?  I  hardly  think  that  I  should  consider  this  a  pleasure 
trip,  for  I  am  not  able  to  work;  and,  beside,  it  may  help 
to  hasten  my  recovery,  and  we  may  gain  time  by  it." 

"We  will  start  just  as  soon  as  you  are  able  to  go," 
said  Tom.  '  'I  think  that  a  change  will  help  you.  The 
journey  will  be  pleasant,  and  a  change  of  climate  is  sure 
to  help  you.  As  for  its  being  a  pleasure  trip,  there  may 
be  pleasure  in  it;  but  it  is  not  pleasure  that  we  are  after. 
Beside,  we  stand  as  much  chance  of  hearing  from  our 
man  there  as  here.  I  have  offered  a  reward  for  him,  or 
any  information  concerning  his  whereabouts.  I  have 
sent  descriptions  of  him  to  police  headquarters  in  all  the 
large  cities  and  towns  in  the  West.  Detectives  will  be 
on  his  trail,  and,  no  matter  where  he  goes,  he  is  liable 
to  be  detected  any  day.  We  are  almost  sure  to  hear  from 
him  before  long.  But  if  we  hear  nothing  from  him  by 
the  time  you  are  able  to  work,  we  can  return  here  and 
take  up  the  trail  and  follow  it  to  the  end.  He  is  our  vic- 
tim— he  can  't  escape  us." 

"Then  we  will  start  in  the  morning,"  declared  the 
Kid,  "for  I  am  feeling  so  strong  and  well  today  that  I 
know  I  can  stand  the  trip.  But,  Tom,  where  are  we  go- 
ing? Were  you  ever  out  there?" 

"Yes.  I  used  to  live  there.  We  will  go  back  to  my 
old  home." 


172  FAREWELL    TO     RUBY    GULCH. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


EDITH    TRANSFORMED     BY     THE     MILLINERS — JIM    MADISON 

LOCATED. 

Monday  morning  dawned  warm  and  pleasant,  and 
the  Las  Animas  stage  was  waiting  before  the  door  of  the 
little  cabin  home  when  the  Kid,  with  alight  heart  though 
feeble  step,  came  forth  and  bade  farewell  to  the  many 
friends  who  had  gathered  there  to  press  her  hand  and 
wish  her  long  life  and  happiness. 

Waving  a  last  farewell  to  her  humble  home — the 
home  where  she  had  known  so  many  d.ays  of  suffering,  of 
anxious  waiting,  of  hope  and  fear,  and  yet  many  days  of 
pleasure  and  happiness — she  settled  herself  down  among 
the  soft  cushions  provided  for  her  comfort  and  was  rap- 
idly whirled  away. 

Passing  over  their  uneventful  yet  very  pleasant  jour- 
ney, we  find  them,  six  days  later,  comfortably  situated 
at  a  quiet  and  highly  respectable  boarding  house  in  Los 
Angeles,  California. 

"We  will  go  to  a  boarding  house,"  said  the  Kid.  "It 
will  be  quiet  there,  and  we  will  be  where  we  can  deny 
ourselves  to  persons  we  do  not  wish  to  see.  We  want 
to  keep  out  of  sight  of  any  one  that  might  be  interested 
in  finding  us.  Such  a  precaution  may  be  unnecessary, 
but  it  is  better  to  be  careful.  Beside,  I  wish  to  remain 
secluded  until  I  get  some  clothes.  We  can  't  be  any  too 
careful,  Tom.  And  now,"  she  continued  naively,  "your 
trials  are  about  to  begin,  for  I  intend  to  send  for  a  dress 


•SHE  CAME  RUNNING  DOWN  THE  WALK  TO  MEET  THEM." 
—173— 


CONCERN     FOR     TOM. 


175 


maker  and  order  a  few  dresses.  So,  you  see,  you  may 
expect  to  have  on  your  hands,  for  a  few  days  at  least, 
one  of  those  incorrigible  creatures  for  whom  )7ou  profess 
such  a  detestation.  Just  remember  this,  and  deport  your- 
self accordingly." 

"I  will  hunt  me  a  new  boarding  place,"  declared 
Tom. 

"No  need  of  that,  for  you  won't  have  to  be  near  me 
except  at  meal  time,  and  I  guess  you  can  stand  that — 
that  is,  if  it  don't  take  your  ap- 
petite away." 

'  'Well,  I  can  try  it  for  a  day 
or  two,  anyway,  and  see,"  said 
Tom  with  a  laugh. 

Once    settled   in    their    new 
quarters,  the  transformation  pv! 
act  began,    and  in  a  surpris-  I 
ingly  short  time   was   com-  I 
pleted. 

It  was   Wednesday,   the 
third  day  after  their  arrival,  IN  THE  GARDEN. 

that  Tom,  arising  from  the  dinner  table,  took  his  com- 
panion's arm  in  his  and  the  two  went  for  a  short  walk  in 
the  garden. 

"You  need  a  little  exercise,"  said  Tom.  "You  are 
too  much  taken  up  with  those  dresses.  Lay  them  aside 
for  an  hour." 

"But  I  dislike  to  be  seen  yet,  Tom.  My  dresses  are 
promised  me  this  afternoon,  and  then  I  can  go  out.  But 
what  is  the  matter  with  you,  Tom?  What  makes  you 


176  "CALL     ME     EDITH." 

look  so  pale  today?  I  did  not  notice  this  until  this  very 
moment.  What  is  it,  Tom?" 

"Oh,  it  's  nothing,"  answered  Tom,  carelessly.  "I 
am  losing  a  little  of  the  Arizona  complexion — that  's  all. " 

"I  know  better,  Tom;  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  the 
matter  is.  You  neither  look  well  nor  act  naturally.  Are 
you  displeased  with  me?" 

"No — no!      Kid,    you   are  all  right.      It  is  not  that. " 

"Tom,  you  must  call  me  Edith.  You  don't  like  i.t,  I 
know;  but  you  must  accustom  yourself  to  it,  so  you  may 
as  well  commence  the  practice.  'Kid'  is  all  well  enough 
in  the  mines  and  when  we  are  alone;  but  you  always  for- 
get." 

"Yes— yes.  I  understand,  Kid — I  mean  Edith.  But 
I  am  afraid  that  you  will  find  it  a  hard  task  to  make  any 
thing  of  me,  except  Tom  Weston.  He  's  whole  cloth, 
Kid;  a  yard  wide  and  dyed  in  the  wool;  warranted  net  to 
rip,  ravel  or  run  down  at  the  heel — 

"Tom— Tom!"  laughed  Edith,  placing  her  small  and 
white  hand  over  his  mouth.  "I  won't  hear  any  more! 
Tell  me,  Tom,  what  the  matter  is  with  you  today." 

"Oh,  my  shoulder  hurts  a  little — that  's  all." 

"Have  you  had  any  thing  done  for  it  since  we  came 
here?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  go  and  have  it  seen  to,  Tom,"  said  Edith, 
reproachfully.  "It  's  a  shame  for  you  to  be  so  careless 
of  yourself.  You  have  had  a  doctor  here  every  day  to 
see  me,  and  not  once  have  you  been  treated  for  your  own 
hurt!  At  this  rate,  you  will  not  regain  the  use  of  your 


EDITH    TRANSFORMED. 


arm  this  Summer.  I  bid  fair  to  recover  from  my  wound 
before  you  are  sound  again." 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  have  the  doctor  examine  my 
shoulder,"  assented  Tom. 

"I  doubt  much,"  said  Edith,  "whether  it  was  prop- 
erly attended  to  in  the  first  place.  Maybe  that  murder- 
ous bullet  should  have  been  probed  for  and  extracted  at 
Ruby  Gulch.  It  has  hurt  you  ever  since  you  received 
the  wound." 

"\yhen  I  return  from  the  doctor,  I  suppose  we  will 
need  some  one  to  give  me  an  introduction  to  you;  but, 
then,  I  guess  I  can  stand  it." 

For  a  moment  Edith  stood  and  watched  the  manly 
form  and  bearing  of  Tom  Weston  as  he  walked  down  the 
street,  and  then,  with  a  look  of  pit}'  in  her  eyes,  she 
turned  back  to  the  house. 

"I  will  give  him  a  pleasant  surprise  when  he  returns 
home,"  thought  Edith. 

The  "transformation  act,"  as  Tom  termed  it,  was 
completed  to  Edith's  satisfaction.  When  he  returned  in 
the  evening,  pale  and  so  weak  that  he  had  to  be  assisted 
from  the  carriage  into  the  house  by  the  old  doctor  who 
had  waited  upon  Edith,  he  was  most  agreeably  surprised 
at  the  beautiful  and  graceful  young  lady  who  came  run- 
ning down  the  walk  to  meet  him. 

"Don't  touch  my  arm,  Edith,"  said  Tom,  in  a  warn- 
ing tone.  "I  had  that  bullet  taken  out." 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  have  to  endure  that  opera- 
tion, in  order  to  be  cured." 

"Yes;  it  's  over  with  now.    My  doctor  says  I  am  sure 


178  JIM    MADISON    LOCATED. 

to  be  myself  again  some  day. "  And  the  brave  sufferer 
lay  down  on  the  sofa  and  turned  his  admiring  gaze  upon 
the  beautiful  vision  before  him. 

"Poor  Tom!"  softly  whispered  Edith,  brushing  his 
brown  locks  from  his  broad,  pale  forehead.  "What  a 
shame  that  this  was  not  done  in  the  first  place!" 

"Stand  out  there,  Kid,  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  let  me  have  a  good,  square  look  at  you,  and  I  will 
promise  never  to  be  so  negligent  again." 

"Will  you  also  promise  to  call  me  Edith?"  she  asked, 
as  she  complied  with  his  request. 

"By  thunder!  Kid — I  mean  Edith — you  are  the 
pret — 

"Tom!"  cried  the  girl,  stopping  his  mouth  with  both 
her  hands.  "Stop,  sir!  I  won't  have  any  of  your  flat- 
tery. For  shame,  Tom,  to  turn  flatterer!  But  really, 
now,  is  n't  a  girl  almost  as  nice  as  a  boy?" 

"Some  girls  are,"  he  acknowledged,  but  reluctantly. 
"But  say,  KidT  I  have  got  some  news  that  will  interest 
you,  I  think." 

"What  is  it,  Tom?" 

"I  got  an  answer  to  our  advertisement  for  Madison. 
He  is  in  San  Francisco.  I  got  a  letter  from  a  private  de- 
tective there,  stating  that  he  had  seen  and  located  our 
man,  and  he  wants  us  to  come  on  there  and  arrest  him 
just  as  soon  as  possible,  as  he  fears  that  he  may  leave." 

"And  you  are  all  crippled  up  so  you  can  't  go  for  a 
while,"  sighed  Edith. 

"But  we  will  go,  Kid;  we  will  start  with  tomorrow's 
sunrise."  In  the  morning  they  left  for  the  Sunset  City. 


•WHAT  HE  SAW. 
— 180— 


DUTCH  JOHN  IN  RETREAT.  l8l 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


TOM     SPOILS    JIM    MADISON  S    PLAN    OF    MURDER,    BUT    THE 
LATTER    RECAPTURES    EDITH. 

"Py  chiminelli  Got!"  exclaimed  Dutch  John,  on  the 
night  of  the  fight  at  the  dam,  as  the  Kid  and  his  men — 
or,  rather,  her  men — charged  upon  the  outlaws.  "Py 
chiminelli  Got,  I  yoost  gids  oudt  from  deser  places  right 
avay  off  quick,  py  tarn!" 

Making  immediate  use  of  the  first  opportunity,  he 
fled  and  made  his  way  back  toward  the  Mission. 

He  had  gone  but  a  mile  or  so  in  his  flight  when  he 
met  Jim  Madison  and  Fred  Wimmer — the  latter  an  old 
chum  of  Jim's — on  their  way  to  join  the  outlaws,  in  order 
to  aid  them  in  plundering  the  city,  which  they  supposed 
to  be  destroyed  by  that  time. 

"Hello  there — you  crazy  Dutchman!  What  's  up 
now?"  demanded  Jim,  as  the  frightened  Dutchman  came 
panting  down  the  road. 

"Oop?  Py  chiminelli  Got  py  toonder  now!  Effry 
pody  ish  oop!  EfTry  pody  ish  kilt,  py  tam,  but  meer! 
Py  Cheeses,  dot  Kids  und  dot  chiants  und,  py  chiminelli 
toonder,  ein  tousand  more  podies  dey  sharges  mit  us 
down  de  goolch,  und  dey  kilts  effry  tamt  von  of  us!" 

"What  does  the  crazy  fool  mean.  Fred?  Ask  him  in 
Dutch,  and  see  what  's  up,"  cried  Jim,  now,  thoroughly 
excited. 

In  a  few  minutes  Dutch  John  told  of  the  tragedy  at 


X 

1 82  HIDING    AND    PLOTTING. 

the  dam,  the  speedy  fate  of  the  outlaws  and  his  escape- 
unconsciously  telling  the  truth,  for  at  that  very  moment 
the  sound  of  fire-arms  which  had  been  borne  to  them  on 
the  wind  ceased.  Except  Dutch  John,  every  man  who 
had  taken  part  in  the  bloody  work  lay  dead  or  was  taken 
captive  back  to  the  town  which  they  had  sought  to  flood 
and  pillage. 

"Py  Cheeses!"  exclaimed  the  Dutchman.  "Ve  hafs 
to  git  oudt  from  deser  country  ride  avay  off  quicker  as 
der  tifle,  or  ve  yoost  vas  a  goner,  py  toonder!" 

"That  's  right,"  said  Jim.  "We  've  got  to  get  out 
of  here  mighty  quick.  Come  on,  boys!  Let  us  pull  out 
for  San  Francisco.  We  've  got  the  funds  that  belonged 
to  Faro  Bill  and  his  pard.  We  can  whack  up." 

Three  weeks  later  the  trio  of  friends  landed  in  San 
Francisco.  Here,  as  well  as  at  several  other  places,  they 
saw  the  advertisement  offering  $1,000  for  the  arrest— or 
information  that  would  lead  to  the  arrest — of  Jim  Madi- 
son and  Dutch  John. 

"Py  chiminelli  Got!  Dose  tifles  are  after  us — yoost 
so  sure  as  Got,  py  toonder!"  said  Dutch  John. 

For  several  weeks  after  arriving  in  the  city  they 
watched  and  waited  in  the  hope  of  learning  some  thing 
of  the  whereabouts  of  Tom  and  the  Kid,  and  to  find  out 
what  they  were  up  to;  but,  as  yet,  nothing  definite  could 
be  learned. 

"I  have  a  plan,"   said   Jim   Madison,    one  day,  after 
reading  a  new  advertisement  which  raised  the  reward  for. 
his  arrest  from  $  1,000  to  $2,000.    "We  must  act  at  once, 
or,  the  very  first  thing  that  we  know,   some  infernal  de- 


JIM'S    BOLD    PLAN.  183 


tective  will  gather  us  in,  along  with  that  $2,000.  My 
plan  is  this,  and  I  think  it  will  work,  if  we  are  only  care- 
ful and  don't  get  rattled  at  the  last  minute.  We  can  rent 
a  building  and  go  into  business.  I  have  my  eye  on  a 
place  that  will  answer  our  purpose  first-rate — a  saloon 
down  on  Wharf  street.  It  is  a  rather  tough  place,  but 
that  is  just  so  much  in  its  favor.  The  place  is  for  rent, 
and  we  can  have  it  remodeled  to  suit  our  wishes.  When 
the  trap  is  ready  to  spring,  we  can  answer  that  adver- 
tisement with  its  shining  bait  of  $2,000,  and  have  our 
anxious  moneyed  friends  come  here.  Then  we  must  pro- 
ceed in  this  fashion:  Let  Fred  act  as  a  private  detective 
who  has  run  us  to  cover.  He  can  answer  their  adver- 
tisement and  bring  them  here  to  meet  him  at  his  office. 
This  office  we  can  fit  up  in  our  building  expressly  for  this 
purpose.  Once  we  get  him  there,  we  three  can  manage 
.him  all  right.  A  long,  keen-bladed  knife  under  the  left 
ribs  will  settle  him." 

"Py  chiminy  Cheeses  toonder!  I  toandt  vants  der 
chobs  to  do  dot  peesness,  I  petter  peliefs  meer!  You  haf 
to  tickle  his  ribs  mitoudt  my  helps,  py  toonder!"  said  the 
Dutchman,  whose  previous  meetings  with  Tom  Weston 
were  vivid  recollections. 

"I  can  easily  arrange  that.  Now,  the  first  step  is  to 
get  the  saloon,"  said  Jim. 

This  was  the  first  step,  and  it  was  soon  taken.  The 
next  day  they  rented  and  took  possession  of  the  place, 
which  was  said  to  be  the  most  disreputable  dive  in  the 
low  district  of  San  Francisco.  Yet  the  house  and  its 
neighborhood  suited  their  tastes  and  purposes. 


1 84  A  ROGUES'  REHEARSAL. 


In  the  course  of  a  week,  the  details  had  been  fixed 
for  the  execution  of  a  plan  which  involved  both  abduc- 
tion and  murder. 

A  room  had  been  fitted  up  in  the  back  part  of  the 
building,  on  the  second  floor,  and  they  had  so  laid  their 
plan  of  action  that  they  saw  no  chance  for  defeat. 

Said  Jim:  "Let  us  see,  now,  if  our  plan  will  work 
all  right.  I  take  my  place.  John  is  the  victim;  Fred  is 
the  detective." 

Entering  the  room  which  they  had  fitted  up  as  the 
private  office,  they  arranged  the  furniture  as  desired  for 
carrying  out  their  plan  of  murder. 

On  one  side  of  the  room  a  curtain  was  drawn — for 
the  ostensible  purpose  of  concealing  a  bed.  A  table  was 
placed  a  few  feet  from  the  curtain  and  directly  in  front 
of  the  place  where  the  curtain  parted  to  serve  the  pur- 
pose of  a  door.  Behind  the  table  and  directly  between 
it  and  the  parting  in  the  curtain  was  a  chair.  Another 
chair  was  placed  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  from 
the  first  one,  in  front  of  which  was  a  writing  desk,  upon 
which  were  writing  materials. 

When  these  things  were  arranged  satisfactorily,  Fred 
and  Dutch  John  went  out,  and  Jim  took  his  place  behind 
the  curtain  and  awaited  the  reappearance  of  the  other 
two.  Presently  the  door  opened  and  Fred  and  John  en- 
tered. The  supposed  detective,  leading  the  way,  threw 
himself  carelessly  into  the  chair  before  the  table,  and  at 
the  same  time  motioned  Dutch  John  to  the  chair  behind 
the  table.  He  then  began  conversation  with  reference 
to  the  arrest  of  Jim  Madison. 


DUTCH   JOHN    APPROVES.  185 

At  the  proper  time,  the  curtain  parted  and  Jim  Madi- 
son, knife  in  hand,  stood  directly  behind  the  Dutchman 
and  within  easy  reach  of  him. 

"Py  chiminy  Cheeses!  Dot  vas  petter  as  goot,  py 
toonder!  Dot  takes  him  in  all  right — yoost  so  sure  as 
tarn!  Py  toonder,  noddings  vas  petter!" 

But  Dutch  John's  hearty  approval  of  the  plan  was 
owing  to  the  fact  that  he  was  cast  for  a  minor  part  in  the 
tragedy. 

Now  that  all  was  ready  and  each  understood  his  part 
perfectly,  the  advertisement  was  answered,  and  they 
awaited  impatiently  the  developments  of  their  scheme. 

But  there  was  one  thing  yet — a  last  resort — which 
concerned  Jim  more  than  the  others.  There  was  a  bare 
possibility  that  their  scheme  might  not  work  just  as  they 
had  planned;  and  so,  to  make  sure  of  the  girl,  at  least, 
a  note  was  prepared  as  if  written  by  Tom,  directing  her 
to  come  immediately  in  the  carriage  which  would  be  sent 
for  her,  to  meet  Tom  at  a  certain  place,  as  he  had  made 
the  arrest  and  wanted  her  to  identify  Jim. 

Impatiently  they  awaited  the  arrival  of  Tom  Weston 
and  Edith,  who  were  expected  upon  the  evening  train  at 
ten  o'clock. 

As  the  train  rolled  into  the  depot,  Tom  and  Edith 
stepped  upon  the  platform  and  were  immediately  accost- 
ed by  the  supposed  detective. 

"Ah — yes,"  said  Tom,  as  the  detective  introduced 
himself.  "I  am  anxious  to  be  through  with  this  job  as 
soon  as  possible.  When  I  have  seen  this  lady  to  a  hotel, 
I  will  be  at  your  service." 


1 86 


THE    TRAP    SPRUNG. 


A  hack  was  called,  and  in  a  few  minutes  drove  them 
to  the  Golden  Gate  Hotel,  where  they  registered  and 
Tom  saw  that  Edith  was  made  comfortable.  He  then 
accompanied  the  bogus  detective  to  his  "private  office." 

"Come  in,  sir," 
said  the  detective, 
who  was  scarcely 
able  to  conceal  his 
excitement.  Enter- 
ing the  room,  he 
motioned  Tom  to 
the  chair  behind  the 
table,  while  he  sat 
down  in  the  other 
chair.  Elevating 
his  feet  upon  the 
corner  of  the  table, 
he  began  to  fumble 
among  some  pa- 
pers, as  if  search- 
ing for  a  particular 
document.  H  is 
hand  trembled  and 


"PUTTING  ON  HER  WRAPS  QUICKLY." 


his  face  turned  pale — facts  which  Tom  immediately  no- 
ticed. Instantly  a  flash  of  suspicion  crossed  his  mind, 
and,  seeing  the  detective  cast  an  anxious  glance  toward 
the  curtain,  he  moved  his  chair  a  little  and  glanced 
hastily  around. 

What  he  saw  might  well   have  paralyzed  a  less  cour- 
ageous man.      On  Tom  the  sight  had  the  opposite  effect. 


TOM'S    CLOSE    CALL.  1 87 

Quick  as  a  flash,  Tom  sprang  aside,  and  the  murder- 
ous knife  which  was  aimed  for  his  heart  buried  itself  in 
the  deal  table. 

Directly  behind  Jim  Madison,  who  had  struck  the 
murderous  blow,  stood  Dutch  John  armed  with  a  double- 
barreled  shotgun,  which  he  was  pointing,  as  nearly  as  his 
trembling  hands  \vould  allow,  directly  at  Tom's  head. 

With  one  bound  Tom  went  out  of  the  door,  and, 
backing  down  stairs,  he 'soon  reached  the  street. 

"Quick!  Quick!"  cried  Jim.  "Let's  go  after  the 
girl!" 

Running  down  into  a  back  alley,  where  a  carriage  was 
waiting,  they  sprang  into  it  and  drove  to  the  hotel  where 
Edith  was  stopping. 

Ten  minutes  later  they  drove  up  to  the  hotel,  and  the 
detective  entered  and  delivered  to  Edith  his  bogus  mes- 
sage, adding:  "We  have  got  him!" 

But  Edith  did  not  hear  what  the  man  was  saying. 
Putting  on  her  wraps  as  quickly  as  possible,  she  reported 
herself  ready.  A  minute  afterward,  she  entered  the  car- 
riage with  the  detective. 

Ten  minutes  later,  Tom  Weston  entered  the  hotel 
and  asked  for  Miss  Edith,  but  she  had  gone — no  one 
knew  where.  Some  one  had  called  for  her,  and  she  had 
gone  away  with  him. 


1 88  ENTRAPPED. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


EDITH  DRUGGED    AND    PLACED    ON    BOARD  A  VESSEL  BOUND 
FOR    AUSTRALIA. 

After  a  mile  of  rapid  driving,  the  carriage  containing 
Edith  and  the  detective  stopped  before  a  low,  rough- 
looking  boarding-house,  which  was  kept  by  Dame  Gaats- 
mann.  Conditional  arrangements  had  already  been 
made,  in  case  they  should  find  it  necessary  to  bring  Edith 
there. 

Here  Edith  was  hurried  from  the  carriage  and  into  an 
upper  room,  in  the  back  part  of  the  house,  overlooking 
a  yard  below,  which  was  surrounded  by  a  high  board 
fence,  completely  shutting  out  all  view  of  the  building 
from  the  outside. 

Her  feelings,  when  she  found  herself  a  prisoner,  can 
better  be  imagined  than  described.  The  awful  truth  at 
once •  forced  itself  upon  her  mind;  and,  with  a  pitiful 
moan,  she  sank  down  upon  the  bed.  Burying  her  face 
in  the  pillow,  she  burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 

Next  morning  Dame  Gaatsmann  brought  Edith  her 
breakfast,  but  she  was  deaf  to  the  girl's  entreaties,  and 
when  her  work  was  done  she  went  away  and  left  the  dis- 
heartened prisoner  alone. 

"O  my  God!  What  shall  I  do?  Oh,  if  I  had  only 
remembered  what  Tom  told  me!  But  I  did  not  know — 
I  thought  he  had  sent  for  me.  O  God,  help  me!" 

Just  then  the  door  was  opened,  and  she  found  herself 
face  to  face  with  her  father's  murderer — Jim  Madison. 


'Srop,  JIM  MADISON!" 
—189— 


JIM    ADDS    INSULT    TO    INJURY. 


"Ah,  my  beautiful  little  Edith!"  cried  Jim  triumph- 
antly. "And  GO  I  have  got  you  at  last,  my  darling!  My 
beautiful  little  bird!" 

Poor  Edith!  What  could  she  do?  What  could  she 
say?  Her  distress,  her  tears,  her  piteous  entreaties—  all 
were  alike  sweet  music  in  the  ears  of  her  cowardly  and 
heartless  captor. 

Words  of  love,  threats  and  the  most  cruel  insults 
were  forced  upon  her  unwilling  ears.  His  base,  low  and 
dishonorable  nature  was  shown  in  the  shameless  offers 
and  promises  to  which  he  compelled  her  to  listen.  But, 
of  course,  these  were  without  avail. 

Scarlet  with  shame  and  quivering  in  every  nerve  from 
the  intense  hatred  and  anger  which  she  could  not  con- 
trol, she  shrank  away  from  the  vile  wretch  and  in  a  voice 
hoarse  with  resentment  she  commanded,  as  she  turned 
her  blazing  eyes,  black  as  midnight  now  in  her  rage,  full 
upon  the  cowardly  countenance  of  her  abductor: 

-  "Stop!  Not  another  word  of  insult,  or,  by  the  God 
to  whom  I  look  and  pray  for  protection  and  strength,  I 
will  kill  you  like  a  dog  —  like  the  dog  that  you  are!  O 
my  God!  That  a  man  whom  I  once  looked  upon  as  a 
friend  —  whom  I  believed  to  be  honorable  and  true  —  ever 
should  sink  to  this!  I  do  not  fear  you!  -  You  need  not 
think  to  conquer  me  by  your  base  and  cowardly  threats! 
My  father's  murderer!  Great  God!  Forgive  me  for  the 
terrible  feeling  —  the  terrible  desire  for  vengeance  —  that 
fills  my  heart!  Oh,  I  could  kill  you,  Jim  Madison!  I 
could  kill  you!" 

These  awful  words  rang  like  shrieks  in  the  murderer's 


192  CALMED    BY    REFLECTION. 

ears.  That  dangerous  light  which  flashed  from  her  dark 
eyes  sent  a  thrill  of  fear  to  the  coward's  heart,  for  well 
did  he  know  the  girl's  masterly  strength  and  indomitable 
courage. 

Instinctively  the  cowering  wretch  shrank  back  until 
his  hand  rested  upon  the  door  knob. 

Once  the  almost  irresistable  desire  to  kill  her  father's 
murderer  and  thus  at  once  avenge  his  death  and  end  her 
work  nearly  overcame  her  better  nature.  But  with  a 
shudder  at  what  she  thought  to  be  a  wicked  passion,  she 
controlled  herself  and  allowed  him  to  leave  the  room. 
However,  the  dangerous  part  of  her  nature,  which  had 
been  nursed  and  encouraged  by  the  rough,  wild  life  that 
she  had  lived  in  the  mines,  and  her  insatiable  desire  for 
vengeance,  as  well  as  the  irrevocable  vow  which  she  bad 
made  that  day  at  the  "burying,"  over  the  dead  body  of 
her  mother,  to  avenge  her  father's  murder  and  her  good 
mother's  death  by  grief  thereat,  had  shown  itself  so  un- 
mistakably to  Jim  Madison  that  he  never  afterward  da^ed 
to  provoke  her  rage  to  such  a  degree. 

For  three  days  Edith  was  kept  a  close  prisoner.  At 
the  end  of  the  third  day  she  ate  supper  and  then  lay 
down  upon  her  bed  and  went  to  sleep. 

How  long  she  had  slept,  she  knew  not,  when  she  was 
awakened  by  that  peculiar  feeling  of  uneasiness  so  often 
experienced  when,  for  the  first  time,  one  finds  himself  on 
shipboard. 

Arising  from  the  couch  on  which  she  was  lying,  she 
foi^nd  herself  in  a  small  room,  and  she  knew  from  the 
heaving,  rolling  motion  that  she  was  at  sea  and  aboard 
a  small  vessel. 


WHITHER? 


193 


What  kind  of  a  vessel  it  was  and  whither  it  might  be 
bound  were  alike  unanswerable  questions  to  the  captive. 
What  could  it  mean  and  how  came  she  there  were  ques- 
tions not  so  hard  to  answer,  for  she  comprehended  her 
situation;  she  felt  satisfied  from  the  stupid,  sleepy  feel- 
ing which  possessed  her,  that  she  had  been  given  a  drug 
before  being  conveyed  from  Dame  Gaatsmann's  prison  to 
the  vessel.  Soon  after  awaking,  the  door  of  her  room 

opened  and  her  tor- 
menter,  Jim  Madi- 
son, walked  in. 

H  i  s  handsome 
face  showed  surprise 
and  disappointment 
at  finding  his  sup- 
posed victim  awake 
and  recovered  from 
the  effects  of  the 
drug,  which  he  had 
hired  Dame  Gaats- 
mann  to  administer 
by  skillfully  mixing  it  with  the  food  which  she  brought 
to  the  prisoner. 

With  an  ill-concealed  attempt  to  hide  his  disappoint- 
ment, Jim  said:  "Ah!  I  am  happy  to  see  you  feeling 
and  looking  so  well,  Miss  Edith." 

"Indeed,  sir?  I  had  judged,  from  your  appearance, 
that  you  were  far  from  pleased.  Please  be  seated,  Mr. 
Madison,"  said  Edith,  with  an  imperious  wave  of  her 
hand  toward  the  only  chair  in  the  room.  "I  want  to 


"SHE  LAY  DOWN  WITHOUT  UNDRESSING. 


194  HELD   AT    BAY. 


speak  with  you.  I  want  to  understand  what  is  meant  by 
this  outrage.  Stop!" 

Fiercely  her  dark  eyes  flashed,  and  one  little  hand 
which  had  stolen  beneath  the  folds  of  her  dress  returned 
grasping  the  butt  of  a  jeweled  revolver.  She  stepped 
between  him  and  the  door. 

"Stop,  Jim  Madison,  or  so  help  me  God  you  shall 
never  leave  this  room  alive!  Oh,  I  could  kill  you!  I 
could  kill  you!"  She  hissed  these  words  in  a  voice  so 
low  and  fierce  that  the  cowering  wretch  sank  into  the 
chair  in  the  m-ost  abject  fear  and  trembling.  "Tell  me 
what  vessel  is  this?  Where  are  we  going  and  how  came 
I  here?"  And  again  her  wild,  fiercely  flashing  eyes  were 
set  on  his,  which  were  quickly  averted. 

But  Jim  Madison  was  speechless.  How  could  this 
monster  make  answer? 

"A  thousand  times  death  rather  than  suffer  the  dis- 
grace, shame  and  misery  that  I  would  endure  were  I  to 
revoke  my  vow  of  vengeance,  as  you  ask  me  to  do,  and 
allow  you  to  go  unpunished!  No!  I  will  die  first — and 
so  shall  you,  Jim  Madison.  I  will,  so  help  me  God — I 
will  kill  you,  if  ever  you  attempt  to  wrong  me!  Now 
tell  me,  sir,  whose  vessel  is  this?" 

"It  is  mine." 

"Whither  bound?" 

"To  Australia. " 

"What  do  you  mean,  Jim  Madison,  by  this  most  out- 
rageous proceeding?  Why  have  you  brought  me  here?" 

"Because  I  love  you.     O  Edith— 

"Stop!     Stop!      I  can  't — I  won't — stand  it!     I  will 


THE    CAPTOR    ENTREATS. 


kill  you!  Richly  and  many  times  over  you  deserve  the 
murderer's  fate." 

"Don't,  Edith!  Remember  that  you  are  a  woman  — 
a  lady." 

"A  woman  —  a  lady!"  cried  the  girl,  bitterly.  "A 
woman?  Yes—  I  forgot.  A  lady?  Oh,  I  fought  once; 
and  may  God  forgive  me  for  the  unwomanly  act  —  if  so 
it  be  —  of  taking  human  life!  Yes—  I  fought  then;  and  if 
need  be,  I  can  and  will  fight  again." 

Right  well  did  Jim  Madison  know  that  Edith,  under 
provocation  involving  danger,  would  keep  her  word. 

He  knew  of  the  desperate  ride  that  dark  night,  and 
the  part  that  she  had  played  in  the  bloody  tragedy  at  the 
dam.  He  knew,  from  what  he  had  seen  of  her  at  Las 
Animas,  how  fearless  she  really  was;  and  he  knew,  too, 
that  if  forced  to  it  she  would  fight  with  the  relentless 
desperation  of  a  tigress.  He  had  tested  her  strength  on 
the  night  that  he,  assisted  by  Faro  Bill  and  One-Eyed 
Riley,  had  kidnaped  her  from  the  lonely  tent.  He  was 
aware  that,  girl  though  she  was,  in  a  fair  fight  he  would 
be  no  match  for  her.  He  realized  now  that  he  was  at 
her  mercy;  and  most  heartily  did  he  regret  the  step  that 
he  had  taken.  Still,  he  dared  not  release  her;  and  to 
attempt  her  life  was  certainly  to  risk  his  own. 

He  could  see  one  course  only  —  strategy. 

She  had  at  least  one  weak  point.  So  scrupulously 
honest  and  sincere  herself,  she  could  not  understand  the 
treachery  and  perfidy  of  her  unscrupulous  enemies;  and 
for  this  reason  she  was  too  ready  and  willing  to  place 
confidence  in  their  fair  promises. 


196  NO   LET-UP. 

"Edith,  there  is  no  need  of  further  war  between  us. 
I  have  made  a  mistake  in  what  I  have  done;  but  if  you 
knew — if  you  understood  my  motive — 

"If  I  knew — if  I  understood  your  motive?  I  pray 
God  that  I  do  not.  A  mistake?  Yes — and  a  fatal  one, 
too;  for  I  have  a  friend  who  will  avenge  the  wrongs  and 
insults  which  you  have  heaped  upon  me.  You  can  not 
escape  Tom  Weston.  He  is  on  your  trail,  and  he  will 
see  that  you  pay  the  penalty  for  your  crimes." 

"But  I  will  send  you  back,  Edith.  I  will  put  you  on 
the  first  vessel  we  meet  that  is  bound  for  San  Francisco. 
I  swear  it,  Edith,"  pleaded  the  frightened  villain. 

"O  sir!     Will  you  do  that?" 

"Yes,  I  will — provided  you  will  promise  to  let-up  on 
me.  Edith,  will  you  give  up 

"Never!  Go  your  way — do  your  worst!  I  fear  you 
not!  I  will  hear  no  more.  Go!" 

"Edith,  you  shall  see  the  day  when  you  will  regret 
this  step.  I  have  offered  you  all  that  I  possibly  can.  I 
have  offered  you  freedom — conditioned  only  on  my  own 
freedom  from  your  persecution.  I  can  offer  no  more. 
You  are  my  prisoner,  you  are  in  my  power;  and  it  is  for 
my  own  protection  that  I  have  taken  this  step.  If  you 
will  not  accept  my  terms,  then  I  must — 

"Spare  your  threats!  It  is  not  only  unmanly  in  you 
to  threaten  a  girl,  but  it  is  useless  as  well;  for  I  do  not 
fear  you.  I  can  accept  no  terms  from  my  father's  mur- 
derer. Ours  is  a  war  to  the  death.  Go,  now;  I  will  not 
hear  you." 

He  went,  and  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  escape 


I 


•SHE  DROPPED  LIGHTLY  INTO  THE  WATER." 
—198-- 


RESOLUTE.  199 


from  Edith's  presence.  After  this  last  violent  outburst 
of  passion,  Jim  realized  that  he  stood  on  very  daugerous 
ground. 

The  foiled  villain  could  only  mutter:  "If  I  had  only 
known  that  she  was  armed,  and  had  taken  the  precau- 
tion to  disarm  her!  But,  then,  I  did  n't  expect  her  to 
recover  so  soon." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


EDITH    ONCE    MORE    DONS    BOY     HABILIMENTS    AND    IN    THE 
DEAD    OF    MGHT    LEAPS    INTO    THE    SEA. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  the  vessel  kept  steadily 
on  her  course. 

Shut  up  as  she  was  in  her  little  prison  room,  the  poor 
girl  passed  the  weary  days  alone;  for  she  would  not  per- 
mit Jim  Madison  to  enter  the  door.  She  would  allow  no 
one  except  Ditch  John  to  wait  on  her.  In  due  time  the 
vessel  reached  the  shores  of  Australia,  and  came  to  an- 
chor near  a  small  town  on  the  eastern  coast. 

Again  Madison  endeavored  to  bring  the  brave  girl  to 
terms,  but  she  would  not  permit  him  to  enter  her  room, 
nor  would  she  listen  to  his  entreaties. 

For  several  days  they  remained  near  the  town,  but 
the  prisoner  was  not  permitted  to  leave  her  room. 

After  replenishing  their  store  of  provisions,  they  again 
set  sail  and  coasted  along  the  shore  for  several  days, 
when  they  finally  came  to  anchor  near  Sidney.  Here, 
from  a  conversation  which  she  had  overheard,  Edith 


200 


PAD    PEESNESS. 


learned  that  Tom  had  pursued  them  to  Australia,  and 
was  even  then  hot  on  their  trail.  She  gleaned  from  the 
excited  words  and  manner  of  her  captors  that  they  were 
sorely  distressed  at  the  close  and  persistent  pursuit,  and 
were  fearful  lest  they  should  be  discovered  before  they 
could  make  their  escape  from  the  harbor.  But  the  har- 
bor was  cleared 
without  detection, 
and  the  flight  was 
renewed. 

"Py  chiminy!" 
exclaimed  Dutch 
John,  as  the  boat 
sailed  out  of  the 
harbor.  "Dot  ish 
pad  peesness,  py 
chiminelli  toon- 
der!  I  yoost  gids 
right  oudt  from 
deser  ships  quick, 
right  avay  off,  py 
tarn!" 

"What    's     up 
now,  Dutchy?"  asked  Jim,  as   he   heard  the  Dutchman's 
discontented  muttering. 

"Vat  's  oop?  Py  Cheeses  toonder!  Der  title  est 
oop!  Py  tam,  I  leafs  deser  ships  right  avay  off  alretty! 
Dot  tifle  of  a  chiant — dot  Tom  Veston — ish  here  alretty 
pefore  ve  here  comes,  und,  py  Got  in  himmel,  he  catches 
us  right  avay  off!" 


COASTJNG  ALONG  THE  SHORE. 


DUTCH  JOHN  DESERTS  THE  SHIP.         2OI 

"But  if  you  leave  the  vessel  and  go  ashore,  he  will 
be  sure  to  catch  you.  He  will  set  the  whole  police  force 
after  us,"  said  Jim. 

"Ve  gifs  oop  dot  girls,  und  den  he  leafs  us  alone,  py 
tarn!"  cried  the  Dutchman,  excitedly. 

"But  he  won't  do  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  declared 
Jim.  "Our  only  chance  of  escape  is  to  put  him  out  of 
the  way,  and  we  must  do  it." 

"Py  toonder,  you  shall  put  him  oudt  of  de  vay  al- 
retty.  I  hafs  noddings  to  do  mit  dot  peesness.  I  sees 
dot  girls,  und  I  talks  mit  him  apoudt  dot  peesness,  py 
toonder!"  said  the  Dutchman. 

"You  can't  do  any  thing  with  her,"  declared  Jim. 
"You  shall  not  see  her.  She  is  my  prisoner — my  prop- 
erty. You  shall  not  interfere  with  my  plans."  Stepping 
between  John  and  the  cabin  door,  Jim  barred  the  way. 

"Py  toonder,  I  leafs  deser  ships  right  avay  off  quick, 
und  you  goes  mit  ter  tifle,  py  chiminy!" 

Dutch  John  made  his  threat  good.  Later  in  the  day, 
on  coming  in  sight  of  a  small  town,  he  demanded  to  be 
put  off. 

"I  don't  like  this,  Jim,"  said  Fred,  as  the  Dutchman 
was  put  ashore. 

"Neither  do  I,"  replied  Jim.  "We  ought  never  to 
have  let  him  go." 

"We  had  better  put  the  girl  ashore  than  Dutchy," 
said  Fred. 

"But  I  tell  you,  Fred,  it  won't  make  any  difference. 
That  infernal  Weston  will  never  stop  until  he  gets  a  bul- 
let through  his  heart.  We  've  got  to  do  him!"  said  Jim. 


2O2  JIM'S    FORLORN    HOPE. 

"And  the  girl  is  just  as  dangerous  as  he  is,"  declared 
Fred.  "You  are  afraid  of  her,  and  you  can  't  do  any 
thing  with  her.  Then  why  not  put  her  ashore?" 

"I  tell  you,  Fred,  that  won't  do.  She  is  just  as  much 
to  be  feared  as  he." 

"Then  put  her  out  of  the  way,  too,"  suggested  Fred. 

Bad  man  though  he  was,  Jim  Madison  recoiled  with 
terror  at  the  bare  mention  of  such  a  deed. 

He  remembered  her  when  a  beautiful  girl  at  home, 
and  now  that  she  had  grown  to  be  a  woman,  in  his  eyes 
she  was  more  beautiful  than  ever.  Though  he  feared  her 
when  her  temper  was  aroused,  he  loved  her  madly. 

"No — no,"  he  exclaimed.  "She  shall  yet  be  mine. 
I  have  a  plan.  All  I  want  now  is  to  get  Tom  Weston 
out  of  the  way." 

"And  do  you  think  that  the  girl  will  marry  you — her 
father's  murderer?"  asked  Fred,  contemptuously. 

"No.  But  what  do  I  care  whether  she  will  marry 
me  or  not?  Bah!  I  don't  want  to  marry  her." 

To  the  impatient  and  uneasy  Fred  he  then  unfolded 
in  detail  his  shameless  plot  to  break  Edith's  proud  spirit 
and  crush  her  heart. 

The  evening  was  fast  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the 
night  gave  promise  of  being  dark  and  stormy.  Dark 
clouds  .were  already  beginning  to  loom  up  in  the  west, 
and  vivid  flashes  of  forked  lightning  darted  out  behind 
the  fringed  edges  of  a  bank  of  inky-black  clouds  just 
rising  above  the  water-bound  horizon.  Muttering  thun- 
der came  rolling  over  the  still  water. 

The  sails  hung  lifeless;  not  a  breath  of  air  stirred,  and 


A    DESPERATE    PLUNGE.  2O3 

that  dread  stillness — that  dread  calm  which  so  often  pre- 
cedes the  coming  tempest — had  caught  the  vessel  while 
it  was  yet  a  mile  from  the  nearest  sheltered  cove. 

Edith  was  sitting  by  the  only  window  in  her  room — a 
small  window,  apparently  not  more  than  a  foot  wide  by 
a  foot  and  a  half  in  length—  and  hung  upon  hinges  so  it 
could  be  opened  easily.  She  sat  there,  looking  dreamily 
out  over  the  dark-green  sea  and  wondering  what  all  the 
bustle  and  stir  which  was  going  on  above  could  mean, 
when  she  heard  the  captain  giving  orders  to  get  out  the 
boats  and  tow  the  vessel  to  the  shore. 

Her  room  in  the  cabin,  situated  as  it  was  back  in  the 
stern  of  the  vessel,  hid  the  boats  and  men  from  view,  so 
that  she  could  not  see  their  movements,  and  in  conse- 
quence her  own  movements  could  not  be  seen  by  the 
men. 

"Ah,"  she  mused,   "now  is  my  time!" 

Listening  to  assure  herself  that  no  one  was  on  deck, 
she  began  removing  her  garments.  In  a  minute  or  two 
she  stood  arrayed  in  a  suit  of  boy's  clothes,  which  she  had 
stealthily  and  skillfully  made  from  her  under  clothing. 

Then,  opening  the  small  window,  she  squeezed  her- 
self through  and  dropped  lightly  into  the  water  below. 


204  COURAGE    IS    STRENGTH. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


THE  FURY    OF    THE    TEMPEST    BREAKS   OVER    THE    HEAD  OF 
THE    WAVE-TOSSED    WAIF. 

Darkness  had  already  closed  down  over  the  sea,  and 
Edith,  as  she  dropped  into  the  dark,  cold  water,  struck 
boldly  out,  as  nearly  as  she  could  determine,  toward  the 
shore.  In  a  few  minutes  the  vessel,  which  was  the  only 
visible  thing  about  her,  had  disappeared  in  the  darkness 
which  enveloped  the  face  of  the  deep. 

Oh,  how  lonely  did  the  poor,  homeless  girl  feel  as  she 
found  herself  alone  in  the  dark,  cold  water  and  saw  the 
inky  blackness  of  night  closing  about  her!  She  could  see 
nothing  save  the  vivid  flash  of  the  red  tongues  of  flame 
which  leaped  from  the  huge  columns  of  cloud  that  came 
marching  silently  and  swiftly  over  the  surface  of  the  yet 
placid  sea. 

On — swiftly  on — came  the  silent  storm.  For  a  brief 
spell  the  low,  ominous  mutterings  had  ceased,  as  if  the 
tempest  were  gathering  new  strength  and  fury  for  the 
awful  work  of  devastation  and  ruin  before  it. 

On  swept  the  dark  column — towering  high  above  her 
now,  then  reaching  out  its  giant  arms  like  the  wings  of  a 
great  net,  extending  far  beyond  her  on  either  side  and 
circling  around  as  if  to  clasp  her  in  a  deadly  embrace. 

Then  burst  forth  the  vivid  tongues  of  flame,  which 
darted  down  into  the  now  troubled  waters.  The  storm, 
hanging  for  a  moment  as  if  gloating  over  its  helpless  vie- 


n 


HELP! 


207 


tim,  came  rushing  down  like  a  host  of  demons  let  loose 
for  destruction. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  the  brave  girl  despair.  As  soon 
as  the  prison  ship  was  out  of  sight,  she  had  made  for  the 
shore.  Slim  hope,  indeed,  there  seemed  to  be  for  the 
dauntless  girl.  A  mile  of  water  between  herself  and  the 

land — a  fiercely 
raging  tempest 
rushing  down  on 
her,  tossing  the 
sea  into  foaming, 
mountainous  bil- 
lows in  its  mad 
fury  as  it  came! 
What  hope? 

"OGod!  Must 
I  die?  Oh,  that  I 
could  live  to  ful- 
fill my  vow — to 
avenge  my  good 
O  God!  Let  me 
O  Tom!  That  I 


"SHE  STRUCK  BOLDLY  FOR  THE  SHORE. 


father's  cruel  murder!      Let   me   live, 

Ifve,  for  life   is   so  sweet  to  me  now! 

should  be  taken  from   you   now,  and   not    be   spared   to 

reward  your  noble  heart  for  the  love  you  gave  me!" 

This  was  the  silent  prayer  of  Edith's  filial  soul — the 
appeal  of  her  loyal  heart. 

Just  then  a  bright  flash  of  light  gleamed  across  the 
dark  waters.  With  a  great  bound,  her  heart— for  so  it 
seemed — leaped  into  her  throat,  and  for  a  moment 
smothered  the  glad  cry  which  strove  for  utterance.  But 


208  TIMELY    SUCCOR. 


this  hindered  for  a  moment  only.  Then  burst  forth  the 
joyous  cry,  ringing  loud  and  clear  above  the  roar  of  the 
rushing  tempest: 

"HELP!     HELP!" 

Quickly  and  with  a  tremor  of  terror  came  the  fearful 
thought:  What  if  they  should  prove  to  be  Jim  Madison 
and  his  men  searching  for  her? 

"Oh,  if  they  should  be  Jim  and  his  men!  No — no! 
They  shall  not  take  me.  They  are  coming— oh,  they 
are  coming!" 

She  saw  the  light,  which  was  a  ship's  lantern,  held  in 
the  hand  of  a  man  standing  in  the  bow  of  a  life  boat, 
flash  across  the  water.  Again  she  cried: 

"Help!     Help!" 

"Pull  hard!"  commanded  the  man  in  the  bow  of  the 
approaching  boat,  as  he  leaned  eagerly  forward  and  tried 
to  peer  into  the  darkness. 

"Pull — you  lubbers!"  thundered  the  old  sea  captain, 
rising  and  scanning  the  surface  of  the  sea. 

"O  God!"  cried  the  man  with  the  lantern,  as  the 
storm  burst  upon  them  like  a  legion  of  furies.  "Too 
late!  Too  late!" 

"Look!  Look!"  cried  the  old  sea  captain,  pointing 
his  finger  to  where  the  black  line  of  water  was  lashed 
into  foam  by  the  tempest. 

One  bound,  and  tbe  life  boat  was  at  the  spot. 

"Stern  all!"  thundered  the  old  sea  captain.  A  little 
white  object  was  seen  almost  beneath  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  and  two  white  arms  were  raised  imploringly. 

The  lantern  dropped,  and  the  man  in  the  bow  of  the 


'HOLD  HER  FAST!' 
— 210— 


LOVE   TRIUMPHANT.  211 

boat,  bending  low,  seized  the  now  almost  exhausted  girl 
in  his  strong  hands.  In  another  moment  he  clasped  the 
drenched  and  shivering  form  to  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


THE    OLD     SEA     CAPTAIN    GIVES    ORDERS     TO     HIS     CREW 

TOM    WESTON    OBEYS    THEM. 

"Edith!"  whispered  the  man,  and  his  feverish  lips 
pressed  her  own. 

"Tom!" 

A  golden  head,  with  the  salt-sea  brine  sparkling 
among  shining  curls,  drooped  upon  his  broad,  manly 
bosom  and  the  delicate  form,  shivering  with  cold,  nestled 
close  to  the  heart  which  loved  and  protected. 

"Lay  to  your  oars!"  commanded  the  captain,  "and 
pull  for  the  shore." 

With  swift  strokes  the  men  sent  the  life  boat  hum- 
ming through  the  raging  waters. 

"Blast  my  old  head  lights!"  exclaimed  the  old  sea 
captain,  rubbing  the  salt  spray  from  his  eyes  and  taking 
another  look  at  beautiful  Edith.  "Stove  my  bulkhead, 
now!" 

"Here,  Kid,"  said  Tom,  removing  his  coat  and  wrap- 
ping it  about  her.  '  'There — that  will  keep  you  warm 
some.  Now,  sit  close  to  me,  so  as  to  keep  warm.  You 
are  quite  chilled,  my  darling." 

"Thank  you,  Tom,"  murmured  the  girl,  as  she 
crouched,  cold  and  shivering,  close  to  his  side,  while  his 


212  SNUGGING    UP. 


strong  right  arm  stole  gently  about  her  lithe  form,  and 
drew  her  close  to  him. 

Crouching  low  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  in  order  to 
shelter  themselves  from  the  icy  spray  which,  driven  by 
the  wintry  Australian  wind,  froze  upon  their  clothing, 
Tom  strove  to  shield  and  revive  his  fiancee. 

"Are  you  warmer  now,  Kid?" 

"Yes.  I  am  getting  warm  now,  Tom.  And  I  see 
that  you  do  not  use  your  arm  yet.  How  is  your  shoulder, 
Tom?" 

"It  is  no  worse — perhaps  a  little  better.  But  my  lit- 
tle girl — how  is  she?" 

"Oh,  I  am  nearly  well — just  a  little  sore  and  lame." 

"My  poor,  wounded  dove!" 

"Tom!" 

"No — no!  I  won't  do  it  again,  Kid.  But  O  my  dar- 
ling— I  mean  Kid — how  could  you  do  such  a  thing?  You 
surely  would  have  been  drowned  but  for  these  brave  fel- 
lows. Tell  me,  my — Kid — how  did  it  happen?" 

"Here,"  interrupted  the  gruff  old  sea  captain,  who 
took  off  his  great  coat  and  threw  it  over  Edith's  head 
and  shoulders.  "Poor  child!" 

"Tell  me  now,"  whispered  Tom,  with  his  lips  so  near 
her  cheek  that  no  wonder  the  subtle  influence — attrac- 
tion, gravitation,  love  or  what  you  may — proved  too 
strong  for  him.  For  Tom  had  his  weak  points,  and  when 
he  looked  down  into  those  beautiful  eyes — so  wide  and 
so  full  of  love — and  then  those  lips,  so  temptingly  close 
—there  is  no  wonder  Just  a  faint  remonstrative  strug- 
gle on  her  part — but  the  great  coat  hid  them  from  view, 


TOM  OBEYS  THE  CAPTAIN. 


213 


the  tempest  roared  and  hissed,  the  men  bent  to  their  oars 
and  the  old  sea  captain,  in  his  deep  bass,  thundered: 
"Hold  her  to  it!" 
"Tom!"  remonstrated  Edith. 

"But  the  captain   said  so,    and  we  have  to  obey  or- 
ders,"   declared    Tom, 
and  he    drew    her   still 
closer. 
"Tom!" 

"I  won't  do  it  again, 
Kid.  Now,  tell  me  how 
it  all  happened." 

"Oh,  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  would  leave 
the  vessel  the  first  op- 
portunity that  I  got.  I 
had  been  preparing  for 
it  for  several  days,  but 
they  kept  such  a  close 
watch  that  1  have  had 
no  opportunity  until  to- 
night. All  that  bothered 
me  was  my  clothes.  I 
could  n't  swim  with  my 
dresses  on,  so  I  had  to 
make  me  a  suit  of  boy's 
things;  but  I  nearly  failed  for  lack  of  material.  Tonight, 
when  they  saw  the  storm  coming  up,  as  there  was  no 
wind,  they  got  out  the  boats,  and  with  long  ropes  began 
towing  the  ship  toward  the  shore.  They  were  all  in  the 
boats,  I  think,  for  I  could  n't  hear  any  one  on  deck,  and 


TOWING  THE  VESSEL  TO  SHORE, 


214  KID'S    NARRATIVE. 


I  knew  that  my  opportunity  had  come.  So  I  crawled  out 
of  the  little  window  of  my  cabin,  and  dropped  into  the 
water.  O  Tom,  I  was  not  certain  that  I  could  swim  to 
the  shore,  but  I  could  n't  help  it.  I  had  to  leave  the 
vessel  tonight,  Tom.  O  God!  It  makes  me  sick  when 
I  think  of  what  I  heard  Jim  and  Fred  planning  after  they 
put  Dutch  John  ashore." 

"Put  Dutch  John  ashore?  What  did  they  do  that 
for,  Kid?  When  did  they  put  him  ashore?" 

"It  was  about  four  o'clock  this  afternoon;  but  I  can 
not  say  what  they  did  it  for.  The  two  quarreled  about 
some  thing,  but  I  could  not  hear  what  the  matter  was.-' 

"Why  did  you  have  to  leave  the  vessel,  Kid?  What 
was  it  that  you  overheard  them  saying?" 

"O  Tom!  I  can  not  tell  you  now.  Perhaps,  some 
time,  I  can." 

Involuntarily  Tom's  eyes  flashed  fire  and  his  fists 
clinched.  "I  can  well  imagine  the  purport  of  their  con- 
fab. The  infernal — 

"Tom!"  cried  Edith,  reproachfully.  "Please  do  not 
swear." 

"I  can  't  help  it,  Kid;  it  makes  me  boil.  Oh,  they 
shall  suffer  for  this." 

"Say,  Tom!  How  did  you  happen  to  be  here  just  in 
time  to  save  me?" 

"You  may  be  sure  I  did  not  'happen'  to  be  here;  it 
was  no  accident.  We  got  here  by  the  hardest  kind  of 
work.  The  united  strength  of  twelve  brave,  strong  men 
put  me  here." 

"But  how  did  it  all  happen?"  persisted  the  brave  girl. 


LOVE  LOOKS  THROUGH  A  FIELD  GLASS.  21$ 

"Oh,  I  was  following  the  vessel,  of  course.  I  saw 
Dutch  John  in  Sidney,  just  as  he  was  pulling  out  for  his 
vessel,  and  I  rustled  a  boat  and  crew  and  set  out  in  pur- 
suit. We  had  followed  as  best  we  could,  and  were  com- 
ing along  the  shore,  when  we  came  in  sight  of  them — 
just  as  they  began  towing  their  vessel  toward  the  shore. 
I  was  watching  their  movements.  I  had  just  told  the 
captain  that  we  would  wait  till  they  had  nearly  reached 
the  shore,  in  order  that  we  might  the  more  easily  pounce 
upon  them,  when  I  saw  you  crawl  out  of  the  window  and 
drop  into  the  water." 

"How  could  you  tell  that  it  was  I,  Tom?  You  must 
have  been  two  miles  away." 

"Oh,  I  have  a  good  glass,  of  course.  I  purchased  it 
at  Sidney.  Without  the  glass,  I  would  never  have  seen 
you  at  all.  It  was  the  merest  chance  that  I  did  see  you, 
anyway,  Kid.  If  you  had  been  a  moment  sooner  or  a 
moment  later,  my  darling  little  girl  would  have  been  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea  now. " 

As  he  said  this,  Tom  pressed  the  shuddering  Edith 
still  closer  to  his  heart,  as  if  fearful  that  the  sea  might 
yet  claim  her. 

"O  Tom!" 

A  shudder  passed  over  Edith  at  the  remembrance  of 
her  awful  danger  and  the  miraculous  rescue  from  her 
combined  enemies — her  abductors  and  the  tempest. 

"I  can  't  help  it,  Tom — perhaps  it  is  wrong  for  me 
to  feel  so — but  God  has  given  me  back  to  you,  and  I  love 
you  with  all  my  heart.  Though  I  vowed  not  to  seek 
pleasure  or  happiness  till  I  had  finished  my  work — had 


2l6  GRATEFUL   ACKNOWLEDGMENT. 

avenged  the  death  of  my  father  and  mother — I  can  not 
help  it,  Tom,  that  you  make  me  happy. " 

"It  would  be  a  far  greater  wrong  for  you,  Kid,  if  you 
refused  my  love  and  the  little  pleasure  and  happiness 
which  it  brings  to  you;  for  it  may  lighten  that  burden  of 
sorrow  which  has  so  nearly  crushed  your  heart.  No — 
no,  Kid;  don't  do  that.  It  comes  not  of  your  own  seek- 
ing; rather,  it  is  forced  upon  you.  Accept  it,  then,  for 
it  can  't  be  wrong." 

"Tom,  I  do  not  refuse  your  love — so  noble  and  true 
— for  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  Accept  it,  Tom,  for 
I  love  you;  and  it  is  all  that  I  have  to  give.  But  please 
wait  until  our  work  is  done,  Tom,  and  then " 

"And  then?"  echoed  Tom. 

"Oh,  you  need  not  ask,  Tom;  there  is  no  need  of 
that.  Answer  for  me,  Tom.  Will  this  be  satisfactory?" 

"Satisfactory  to  me,  darling." 

"And  to  me,  Tom." 

And  then — well,  who  can  ever  know?  The  great  coat 
hid  them  from  view;  the  wind  roared  and  the  tempest 
raged;  the  boat  touched  the  shore  and  six  brave  men 
sprang  out  and  seized  the  gunwales,  and  the  old  sea  cap- 
tain thundered: 

"Hold  her  fast!" 

This  time  the  sweet,  red  lips  did  not  shrink;  instead 
there  was  a  low  whisper: 

'  'Obey  orders,  Tom." 


'Jusx  THE  FIT,  I  Do  DECLARE! 
—218--- 


ON    TERRA    FIRMA.  2IQ 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 


THE    TWO    INDOMITABLE    AVENGERS    ENJOY  A    BIT    OF    OLD- 
FASHIONED    HOSPITALITY. 

"Hold  her  fast!"  shouted  the  old  sea  captain,  and  the 
six  men  clung  to  the  gunwales.  The  others  sprang  out, 
seized  the  hawser  and  dragged  the  boat  high  above  the 
reach  of  the  angry  waves. 

"Come,"  said  Tom.  Supporting  his  rescued  compan- 
ion upon  his  arm  and  wrapping  the  captain's  great  coat 
snugly  about  her  supple  form,  completely  concealing  her 
from  view,  he  led  her  up  the  beach  to  a  house  but  a  short 
distance  away. 

"Come  up  with  me  to  the  house,"  said  a  hearty  old 
tar.  "My  old  woman  will  take  care  of  the  gal.  Wel- 
come, little  waif." 

And  right  welcome  was  she  made  to  feel,  too,  when 
she  reached  the  sailor's  humble  home. 

"Come  in!"  exclaimed  the  kind,  motherly  old  dame, 
seizing  the  shivering  girl  in  her  arms  and  half  carrying 
her  to  the  fire  which  blazed  and  crackled  in  the  broad 
fire-place.  "Poor  child!  You  are  chilled  nearly  through. 
There — there,  my  little  deary!  Now  you  '11  get  warm! 
Now  you  '11  get  warm!"  As  she  said  this,  she  placed 
Edith  in  the  great  arm  chair.  "There — there!  Now  a 
hot  supper  and  then  a  warm  bed  will  put  new  life  into 
you. " 

Brisk  as  a  girl,  the  old  lady  flew  about  from  the  fire 
to  the  table  and  from  the  table  to  the  cupboard  until,  in 


220 


MADE    COMFORTABLE. 


an   incredibly  short   time,  a  steaming  supper  was  ready 
for  her  hungry  guests. 

"Sit  up — sit  up!"  said  the  hospitable  old  dame,  "and 
right  welcome  are  ye.      Let  me  help  you,   poor  child!" 

She  swung  Edith  around  to  the  table,  poured  out  the 
fragrant  coffee  and  bade  her  guests  refresh  themselves. 

When  supper 
was  over,  Edith 
was  taken  by  the 
motherly  lady 
to  her  own  bed, 
and  was  soon 
snugly  stowed 
away  for  the 
night.  The  men 
found  warm  and 
fairly  comforta- 
ble berths  in  the 
large  room  near 
the  fire. 

"Oh,  this  is 
so  warm  and  so 
nice!"      thought 
the  weary  girl,  as  she   found  herself  snugly  tucked  up  in 
the  bed. 

"Poor  child!"  said  the  old  lady,  as  she  stooped  and 
kissed  Edith's  pale  cheek. 

Bright  and   early  the   next  morning,    the   men  were 
astir  and  preparing  to  renew  the  pursuit  of  the  fugitives. 

While  breakfast  was  being  prepared,  Tom  walked  to 


THE  OLD  SEA  CAPTAIN. 


KIDS    NEW   OUTFIT.  221 

the  village,  a  short  distance  away,  and  when  he  returned 
he  brought  with  him  a  full  suit  of  boy's  clothes.  These 
were  to  replace  the  improvised  bathing  suit  in  which  his 
partner  escaped  from  the  ship. 

"My  good  woman,  please  take  these  to  the  girl,"  said 
Tom. 

"La,  me!"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  as  she  spread  the 
garments  out  for  the  girl's  inspection.  "Such  nice  wool- 
en clothes,  and  just  the  fit,  I  do  declare!  And  so  soft, 
and  warm,  and  fine,  and  fit  for  a  prince!" 

"Ah,  Kid!"  exclaimed  Tom,  as  she  entered  the  room. 
"You  are  looking  better  this  morning  than  I  expected  to 
see  you.  How  do  you  feel?" 

"Quite  well,  I  thank  you,  Tom.  How  do  you  feel 
after  your  last  night's  wetting?" 

"Oh,  I  am  all  right,"  replied  Tom. 

"But  your  shoulder  pains  you,  Tom;  you  look  pale," 
said  Edith,  as  she  readjusted  the  sling  which  supported 
his  crippled  arm. 

"Oh,  that 's  nothing,"  said  Tom,  carelessly.  "But 
come,  Kid;  breakfast  is  ready.  We  must  eat  and  be  off." 

"Just  so,  Tom;  there  is  no  rest  for  us  till  our  work  is 
finished." 


222  THE    MAN    HUNT    RESUMED. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


DUTCH    JOHN    RETURNS  TO  ARIZONA    AND    GIVES  A  LARGELY 
ATTENDED    FAREWELL    PERFORMANCE. 

Breakfast  was  soon  over,  and  then  the  boat  was 
manned  and  again  took  up  the  search.  Going  along  the 
shore,  they  entered  the  cove  where,  the  night  before,  the 
vessel  owned  by  Jim  Madison  and  Fred  Wimmer  had 
sought  refuge,  and  were  greatly  surprised  at  seeing  a 
large  crowd  of  people  gathered  about  the  wreck  of  a  ves- 
sel lying  upon  a  rocky  point  just  inside  the  little  cove. 

"Look!  Look!"  cried  Edith,  pointing  toward  the 
wreck.  "It  's  Jim  Madison's  vessel!" 

A  few  more  powerful  strokes  of  the  oars  brought  the 
searchers  to  the  wreck.  Just  as  they  touched  upon  the 
beach,  a  man  was  seen  to  turn  and  walk  rapidly  away, 
as  if  anxious  to  escape  the  notice  of  the  new-comers. 

"Stop  him!  Stop  that  man!"  cried  Edith,  pointing 
to  the  retreating  form.  "He  is  Dutch  John!" 

At  the  sound  of  this  command  the  man  broke  into  a 
run,  but  in  a  moment  Tom  Weston  was  upon  him.  Seiz- 
ing him  by  the  shoulder,  Torn  easily  hurled  him  to  the 
ground. 

"O  mein  Got!  Mein  Got!"  wailed  the  trembling 
Dutchman.  "I  'm  kilt!  I  'm  kilt,  py  Cheeses  toonder! 
Kid!  Kid!"  he  wailed,  appealing  to  the  tender-hearted 
girl.  "Helpen  meer,  Kid!  Py  chiminy  Got,  I  helpen 
ier — py  tarn  I  didt — und  dot  ish  vy  dey  pounced  meer 
right  avay  off  alretty,  py  Cheeses!" 


'HE  HURLED  HIM  TO  THE  GROUND.' 
—223- 


RUN    DOWN. 


225 


"Xo  one  shall  hurt  you,  John,"  said  the  girl,  pitying 
him  in  his  wretched  fear,  in  spite  of  the  horrible  part 
which  he  had  played. 

"Got  pless  ier,  Kid!     Got  pless  ier!"  said  John. 
"Where   is   Madison?     Speak,    Dutchman — where  is 
he?"  demanded  Tom. 

"Py  chiminelli   Got,    I  toandt   know.      I  toandt,  py 

Cheeses!  I  yoost 
shwares,  py  chi- 
minelli tarn!" 

"John  was  not 
on  the  vessel  at 
the  time  of  the 
wreck,  Tom, "in- 
terceded Edith. 
"I  do  not  think 
he  knows  where 
Jim  is  now.  They 
quarreled,  and  I 
think  that  it  was 
some  thing  about 
me." 

"Yah!  Yah, 
mein  Herr  Tom; 
I  shwares,  py  tam,  dot  it  yoost  vas  apoudt  dot  Kids,  so 
helpen  me  Got,  py  Cheeses!  I  yoost  would  n't  let  'em 
kilts  dot  Kids;  und,  py  tam,  dey  puts  meer  right  avay  off 
quick  ashore,  py  Cheeses!" 

The  wreck  was  searched,  and  four  bodies  were  found; 
but  neither  Madison  nor  Wimmer  was  among  them. 


'A  CROWD  GATHERED  ABOUT  THE  WRECK." 


226  VAIN    PLEADING. 


"Well,  Kid,"  said  Torn,  when  they  had  returned  from 
a  long  and  fruitless  search,  "our  work  is  not  yet  finished. 
Come;  let  us  be  about." 

"What  shall  we  do  with  Dutch  John?"  asked  Edith. 

"Oh,  these  men  will  take  care  of  him  all  right,"  said 
Tom.  "You  know,  there  is  a  reward  of  $1,000  for  his 
arrest." 

"Oh,  py  chiminy  toonder,  I  gifs  ier  ten  tousand  tol- 
lar  if  ze  leefs  meer  go,  py  chiminelli  Got,  right  avay  off 
quick,  py  tarn!"  cried  the  Dutchman  in  despair. 

But  his  offers  were  made  to  deaf  ears,  for  he  was  im- 
mediately taken  to  Sidney  and  turned  over  to  the  authori- 
ties. Not  long  afterward  he  was  returned  to  the  town  of 
Ruby  Gulch,  to  answer  to  the  charge  preferred  against 
him  there  of  participating  in  the  attempt  to  break  the 
dam  and  destroy  the  town. 

In  the  ruining  districts  of  Arizona,  as  we  have  here- 
tofore had  occasion  to  see,  justice  is  swift;  and  in  this 
case  it  did  not  break  its  long  established  precedent. 

Dutch  John  stood  for  one  awful  moment  upon  the 
scaffold  and  looked  down  on  the  sea  of  faces  about  him, 
but  his  tongue  clove  to  his  mouth  with  fear,  and  he  was 
mute. 

Wild  and  long  rang  the  shouts  of  triumph  as  the  trap 
fell,  and  Dutch  John  swung  suspended  by  his  neck.  His 
body  was  then  riddled  with  a  thousand  bullets  from  the 
guns  and  revolvers  of  the  excited  mob. 


•EDITH  EMERGED  FROM  THE  DRESS  MAKER'S  ESTABLISHMENT. 
—228— 


SEEKING    PASSAGE.  229 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


THE    CAPTAIN    OF    A    MERCHANTMAN    IS    CONFRONTED    BY   A 
PUZZLE,    WHICH    TOM    AND    EDITH    SOLVE. 

Three  days  passed  before  any  trace  of  the  fugitives 
could  be  found,  and  five  days  later  they  were  traced  to 
Sidney. 

For  several  days  no  further  trace  of  them  could  be 
found;  but  finally  Tom  and  the  Kid  became  satisfied, 
from  what  they  were  able  to  learn,  that  the  fugitives  had 
embarked  for  New  York. 

"Nothing  remains,  Edith,  but  for  us  to  follow  them," 
declared  Tom.  "It  will  be  a  long  chase,  and  Jim  will 
have  a  great  advantage  of  us  if  he  gets  there;  for  he  is 
acquainted  in  New  York  and  has  lots  of  friends  and  old 
cronies  there  who  are,  no  doubt,  just  as  bad  as  he  is. 
New  York  is  full  of  such  people,  and  if  one  is  acquainted 
with  them  and  knows  where  tc  find  them  he  has  a  great 
advantage  over  a  stranger,  especially  if  the  stranger  is 
an  enemy  to  that  class  of  people." 

"Of  course,  we  must  follow  them,  Tom,"  declared 
the  dauntless  girl.  "The  trip  will  give  us  time  to  rest 
up  a  little,  and  will  give  your  shoulder  a  chance  to  get 
well.  But  I  must  have  some  clothes,  Tom.  I  can  't  dis- 
guise myself  as  a  boy  any  longer;  beside,  I  do  not  think 
it  is  necessary.  I  can  get  ready-made  clothing  here,  I 
think,  without  trouble." 

"Well,  suit  yourself,"  said  Tom.      "You  can  go  and 


23O  BESKIRTED    AGAIN. 


get  what  you  want  while  I  am  looking  up  a  ship  that  is 
bound  for  America." 

"No.  I  want  you  to  go  with  me,"  said  Edith.  "Then 
I  will  go  with  you.  I  may  be  foolish,  Tom,  but  I  can  't 
help  it;  so  come  along.  It  will  take  but  a  little  while. 
We  will  go  to  a  dress  maker's  first,  and  then  go  down  to 
the  harbor." 

"Well,  come  on  then,"  said  Tom,  and  in  a  few  hours 
Edith  emerged  from  the  dress  maker's  establishment  and 
greeted  her  waiting  companion  a  full  fledged  and  remark- 
ably handsome  young  lady. 

"Oh,  I  feel  so  much  better  now!"  exclaimed  Edith. 
"I  feel  like  myself  again.  Now  I  am  ready  to  resume 
work;  so  lead  the  way,  Tom." 

"We  will  go  down  among  the  shipping  houses  and 
see  about  getting  passage  to  New  York,  and  when  we  can 
go.  I  have  already  telegraphed  the  police,  and  I  have 
raised  the  reward  for  Jim's  arrest  to  $10,000,"  said  Tom, 
as  they  wended  their  way  down  toward  the  docks. 

Here  they  learned  that  there  would  be  no  regular 
steamship  for  America  short  of  a  week;  so  it  would  be 
impossible  for  them  to  go  before  that  time,  unless  by 
some  other  way. 

"We  can  not  wait  that  long,  Tom,"  declared  Edith. 
"Let  us  go  by  some  other  way,  if  we  can." 

"If  you  had  been  here  yesterday,"  said  an  old  sailor, 
"you  could  have  gone  on  board  the  Australian.  There 
were  two  young  fellows  here  hunting  for  a  passage,  and 
I  told  them  of  her,  and  they  went." 

"What  for  looking  fellows  were  they?"  asked  Tom. 


PURSUED  AND  PURSUERS  ENGAGE  SAME  SHIP. 


231 


'They  were  the  same  as  you  described,"  replied  the 


man. 


'  'There  is  a  merchantman  here  loading  for  New  York 
that  starts  today.      You   can   go  on  her,  I  think,  if  you 


"!F  You  HAD  BEEN  HERE  YESTERDAY,"  SAID  AN  OLD  SAILOR. 

prefer  to  go  that  way,"  said  a  shipping  agent.  "I  will 
look  the  matter  up  for  you,  if  you  want  me  to." 

"I  thank  you.  We  will  be  very  glad  to  have  you  do 
so,  for  our  business  is  urgent.  When  may  I  expect  to  be 
taken  aboard?"  asked  Torn. 

"She  sails  in  about  two  hours.  Ah,  here  comes  the 
captain  now.  Captain  Westermann,  a  lady  and  gentle- 


232  PLEADING    WITH    THE    CAPTAIN. 

man  looking  for  a  passage  to  New  York.  I  was  just 
speaking  to  them  of  you." 

"Captain  Westermann,  I  am  happy  to  meet  you  just 
at  this  particular  time,  as  I  am  very  anxious  to  get  to 
New  York  as  soon  as  possible.  My  business  is  important 
and  time  is  precious,"  said  Tom,  earnestly. 

Captain  Westermann  stroked  his  long  beard,  and  for 
a  few  moments  looked  at  the  ground  thoughtfully. 

"I  have  two  passengers  now  for  whom  I  had  to  make 
room,  just  to  accommodate  them,  as  they  were  anxious 
to -reach  New  York  on  pressing  business.  I  was  full  be- 
fore I  took  them  in,  and  I  could  not  possibly  make  room 
for  more  than  one.  I  have  no  accommodations  for  a 
lady. " 

"I  can  put  up  with  any  thing.  Only  say  that  I  can 
go,"  pleaded  Edith. 

"I  would  be  glad  to  accommodate  you,  but  — 

"Say  that  we  can  go!"  pleaded  the  beautiful  girl, 
earnestly,  beseechingly,  her  dark  eyes  filling  with  tears 
as  she  looked  up  into  the  bronzed  face  of  the  captain 
with  such  a  pitiful  glance  that  it  went  to  the  captain's 
heart.  Beautiful  little  Edith  could  be  well  nigh  irresist- 
able  when  she  had  a  mind  to  be,  and  she  exerted  her 
utmost  power  of  enchantment  now. 

"My  dear  little  lady,"  remonstrated  the  captain,  al- 
most at  his  wits'  end.  "I  could  not  possibly  provide  for 
you.  There  is  not  a  single  berth  in  the  ship,  except  one 
in  my  state  room.  If  you  were  a  man,  or  even  if  you 
were  this  man's  wife — "beg  pardon,  my  dear  lady,"  said 
the  captain  hastily,  as  he  saw  a  deep  blush  crimson  the 


DEBATING.  233 


fair  cheek  of  the  girl — "it  would,  indeed,  make  all  the 
difference  in  the  world.  " 

"How  long  before  you  will  start?"  asked  Tom. 

"In  two  hours.  But  I  could  delay  an  hour  or  two,  if 
it  were  absolutely  necessary,"  replied  the  captain. 

"What  shall  we  do,  Kid?"  asked  Tom,  taking  her  to 
one  side. 

"O  Tom!  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  girl,  with  down- 
cast eyes  and  blushing  cheeks.  "What  do  you  say, 
Tom?  What  shall  we  do?" 

"We  can  do  one  of  two  things,  Kid.  We  can  get 
married  and  go  with  him,  or  we  can  remain  here  and 
wait  for  another  vessel. " 

"But  what  shall  we  do,  Tom?  Tell  me,"  pleaded  the 
girl. 

"No— no;  I  won't  do  that,  Kid.  You  must  decide 
for  yourself." 

"But  you  will  advise  me,  Tom.  Please  tell  me  what 
you  think,"  pleaded  the  girl,  earnestly.  "Pity  me,  Tom, 
for  I  am  but  a  poor,  weak,  little  girl,  with  no  one  to  go 
to  with  my  troubles  but  you.  Do  tell  me;  I  will  do  what- 
ever you  advise." 

"I  can  not  take  advantage  of  you,  Kid;  it  is  no  use; 
I  can  not  do  it." 

"But  you  will  not,  Tom;  I  know  )TOU  will  not  take 
advantage  of  me  because  of  this." 

"Well,  we  will  wait,"  said  Tom,  and  he  turned  away. 

"Tom,  don't  let  your  love  for  me  interfere  with  our 
work.  I  am  too  young,  I  know.  I — I  am  afraid  that 
you  would  be  disappointed  in  me.  As  a  girl,  perhaps,  I 


234         TOM  CUTS  THE  GORDIAN  KNOT. 

am  all  well  enough;  but  as  a  wife,  Tom,  I  am  afraid  I 
would  be  a  failure." 

"Nonsense,  Kid!  Seventeen  is  quite  old  enough.  But 
are  you  quite  sure  that  you  are  willing  to  do  this?" 

"I  will  do  any  thing  to  accomplish  my  work.  And  I 
do  not  fear,  Tom,  that  I  will  ever  have  cause  to  regret 
the  step." 

"Then  may  God  help  me  if  I  do  you  wrong,  pdith. 
Come;  let  us  go  and  be  married." 

"Well,"  said  the  captain,  who  had  been  waiting,  for 
his  heart  told  him  what  the  conference  was  about,  "is 
there  any  new  arrangement?  I  am  very  loath  to  disap- 
point you." 

"We  will  be  married,"  replied  Tom. 

"Very  well.  I  will  delay  our  starting  till  morning. 
Be  here  at  six  o'clock,  and  I  will  send  a  boat  to  fetch  you 
off,"  said  the  captain. 

"We  thank  you,"  replied  Tom. 

Next  morning  dawned  bright  and  beautiful,  and  the 
glad  sun  shone  down  upon  the  fair  and  happy  young 
bride  with  its  warm,  greeting  rays,  welcoming  her  to  a 
new  and  happy  life. 

"O  Tom!"  exclaimed  the  happy  bride,  as  the  two — 
now  one— strolled  down  the  path  and  came  out  upon  the 
sandy  beach  just  where  the  long  swell  of  the  ocean  came 
in  and,  climbing  up  over  the  bright,  shining  pebbles, 
broke  in  a  long  line  of  sparkling,  silvery  spray,  and  with 
a  low,  soft  murmur  whispered  a  welcome  greeting  to  the 
happy  little  wife.  "O  Tom!  I  am  so  happy!  It  seems 
almost  a  sin — almost  as  though  I  had  forgotten  my  vow 


POST-NUPTIAL    COOING.  235 

to  seek  no  happiness  or  pleasure  till  I  had  solved  the 
mystery  of  my  father's  death  and  avenged  the  death  of 
my  poor,  broken-hearted  mother.  Do  you  think  that  it 
is  wrong,  Tom?" 

"No — no,  Kid.  It  can  not  be  wrong.  So  do  not 
worry  about  that  any  more.  You  did  not  seek  this — it 
has  been  forced  upon  you — my  brave  little  girl.  Perhaps 
such  a  generous,  self-sacrificing  heart  as  is  yours  deserves 
a  better  reward  than  the  perils,  sufferings  and  disappoint- 
ments which  have  been  your  lot  for  the  past  two  years. 
If  it  is  the  will  of  God  that  you  should  partake  of  a  lit- 
tle pleasure  now,  after  all  these  months  and  years  of  the 
bitterest  woe,  the  most  imminent  peril  and  the  most  dis- 
heartening disappointments,  be  you  content,  my  sweet 
little  wife." 

"O  Tom — my  brave,  noble-hearted  boy — I  thank  you 
with  all  my  poor  heart  for  your  generous,  reassuring 
words!" 

Brave,  gentle,  noble-hearted  Edith!  Little  did  she 
dream  now  of  the  impending  storms  of  misery  and  woe 
which  were  already  hovering  over  her,  as  she  stood  upon 
the  mountain  heights  of  love  and  looked  away  even  to 
the  gates  of  that  Celestial  City  within  whose  pale  does 
supreme  and  eternal  happiness  reign — as  she  drank  from 
that  fount  of  sweet,  joyous  love  flowing  from  the  heart 
of  a  noble  man,  whose  boundless  love,  pervading  her 
soul,  enrapturing  her  heart,  cast  a  halo  of  glory  about 
her. 

Brave,  noble,  dauntless  Edith!  Happy  bride  of  but 
a  few  short  hours,  whose  young  heart  still  throbbed  with 


236  READY    TO    SAIL. 


the  first  rapturous,  crowning  glory  of  a  pure  and  lofty 
love — so  soon  to  be  made  to  drink  to  the  dregs  a  bitter 
cup  of  woe,  made  still  more  bitter  because  of  the  sweets 
of  love  which  she  had  so  lately  enjoyed. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


THE    BRIDE    OF  A    DAY  LEFT    ALONE TOM  S    ABSENCE    PRO- 
LONGED   AND     INEXPLICABLE. 

"Ah,  Tom!"  exclaimed  Edith  as  she  glanced  at  a 
beautiful  little  watch  that  Tom  had  given  her  the  night 
before.  "It  is  just  six  o'clock,  and  the  captain  will  be 
looking  for  us." 

"Well,  we  must  go,  then,"  declared  Tom.  And  in  a 
few  minutes  they  joined  the  captain  on  the  dock. 

"I  wish  you  joy,  my  little  lady!"  exclaimed  the  cap- 
tain, as  he  shook  each  heartily  by  the  hand.  "And  now 
let  us  be  off." 

Entering  the  captain's  boat,  they  were  rowed  to  the 
ship — the  City  of  Brooklyn — upon  whose  polished  deck 
they  soon  found  themselves. 

"Pipe  all  hands  to  quarters!"  commanded  the  cap- 
tain. "We  will  sail  immediately." 

"Captain,"  said  the  mate,  appearing  before  his  supe- 
rior. "Our  two  passengers  are  not  aboard.  They  went 
ashore  last  night,  and  have  not  yet  returned." 

"How  is  this?"  demanded  the  captain.  "They  were 
most  anxious  to  be  off.  Send  a  boat  ashore  for  them, 


\\VAITING  HER. 


—237— 


MR.    JAMES    AND    MR.     BROOKS.  239 

and  if  they  are  not  found  by  ten  o'clock  we  must  sail  and 
leave  them." 

"Aye — aye,  sir!"  responded  the  mate,  and  immedi- 
ately gave  the  necessary  orders. 

"Who  are  these  men,  captain?"  asked  Tom. 

"Mr.  James  and  Mr.  Brooks  are  the  names,"  replied 
the  captain. 

"What  for  looking  men  are  they?" 

"One  is  a  rather  small  fellow,  slim,  and  one  would 
call  him  handsome." 

"Black  eyes  and  a  scar  over  the  right  one?"  inter- 
rupted Tom. 

"Yes — now  that  I  think  of  it — he  did  have  a  scar 
over  the  right  eye.  " 

"By  the  eternal!"  cried  Tom,  with  suppressed  excite- 
ment. "He  is  Jim  Madison!" 

"Jim  Madison?  What?  The  man  for  whom  that 
$10,000  reward  is  offered?"  gasped  the  captain. 

"The  same  man,  captain,"  replied  Tom.  "Hail  the 
boat  and  let  me  go  ashore  with  them.  Stay  here,  Edith. 
The  captain  will  show  you  to  your  room,  and  you  can  be 
arranging  your  things  while  I  am  gone.  There — there! 
Do  not  look  so  scared.  You  will  be  as  safe  here  as  if 
you  were  at  home.  I  will  be  back  in  a  few  hours,  at  the 
farthest.  There,"  he  said,  as  the  captain  showed  them 
to  their  state  room,  "be  a  brave  little  girl."  He  kissed 
her  good-by,  and  entered  the  boat. 

Ten  o'clock  came,  and  the  boat  and  its  crew  returned 
to  the  waiting  ship;  but  neither  Tom  nor  either  of  the 
missing  passengers  returned  with  the  boat. 


240 


SEPARATION. 


White  and  trembling,  Edith  stood  awaiting  in  breath- 
less silence  an  explanation, 

"O  sir!"  she   cried,    as  the   mate  sprang  upon  deck. 
"Where  is  Tom?     What  has  happened?" 

"Becalm,  my  lady.  Nothing  has  happened — noth- 
ing at  all.  Here 
is  a  letter  which 
the  good  man 
has  sent  to  you," 
said  the  mate  of 
the  waiting  City 
of  Brooklyn,  to 
whom  Tom  had 
intrusted  the  let- 
ter to  his  wife. 

Eagerly  she 
seized  the  mes- 
sage and  ran  to 
her  room  to  read 
it.  Hastily  teaj- 
ing  open  the  en- 
velope, she  read 
as  follows: 


"TEARING    OPEN    THE    ENVELOPE,     SHE     READ." 


"Mv  SWEET  LITTLE  WIFE:  Do  not  be  alarmed.  I  am  all  right, 
and  have  struck  the  trail  of  our  victim.  I  can  not  come  back  for  you,  so 
have  the  captain  put  you  ashore.  I  will  send  a  carriage  for  you.  Pay 
the  captain  for  his  trouble,  and  come  as  s  on  as  possible  to  the  Victoria 
Hotel,  where  we  stayed  last  night.  Stay  there  until  I  come.  If  I  am  not 
back  before  night,  I  will  write  and  let  you  know  all  about  it.  Do  not 
worry,  Kid.  From  your  own  loving  TOM." 

With  tearful  eyes  and  a  sad  heart,  the  devoted  young 


HE    COMETH    NOT.  24! 


wife  obeyed  the  directions,  and  was  soon  put  ashore. 
She  found  the  carriage  awaiting  her  and  was  driven  to 
the  Victoria  Hotel,  where  she  was  shown  to  her  bridal 
chamber  of  the  night  before. 

Evening  came  at  last,  but  no  Tom. 

"Oh,  what  can  it  mean?"  moaned  the  half-distracted 
wife. 

Just  then  a  servant  knocked  and  announced  a  letter 
for  her.  But  it  brought  little  comfort. 

Uneasy,  disappointed  and  sick  at  heart,  Edith  lay 
down  on  her  bridal  couch,  and  vainly  sought  sleep. 

Days,  weeks  and  months  passed.  Still  Tom  did  not 
come. 

However,  Edith  was  not  idle.  Crushed  though  her 
heart  was  and  well  nigh  despairing,  she  sought  by  every 
means  in  her  power  to  find  a  clew  that  would  guide  her 
in  discovering  her  husband's  fate. 

Heavily  time  dragged  slowly  on,  and  the  long  Winter 
months  had  passed.  With  the  coming  of  Spring  came 
the  birds  and  the  flowers,  but  no  news  of  Tom  came  to 
cheer  the  weary  heart  of  Edith.  Sad  and  with  aching 
heart,  she  could  find  no  peace — no  rest.  All  was  dark 
and  dreary.  Many  kind  and  sympathizing  friends  offered 
their  consolation,  and  many  were  the  conjectures  made 
as  to  the  probable  fate  of  the  missing  man.  It  had  even 
been  hinted,  and  there  were  not  wanting  those  ready  to 
declare — and  perhaps,  too,  with  a  color  of  probability — 
that  the  husband  had  deserted  the  poor  girl.  But  Edith's 
ears  were  deaf  to  all  disparaging  theories. 

"Oh,  I  can  not  stand  this  any  longer!"  cried  the  poor 


242  REWARD    INCREASED. 

girl,  in  very  desperation,  while  some  of  her  friends  were 
offering  their  sympathy.  In  spite  of  the  remonstrances 
of  well  meaning  friends,  the  brave  girl  began  the  search. 
Edith  at  once  raised  the  reward  for  the  apprehension 
of  Jim  Madison  to  $20,000.  She  also  sent  a  description 
of  Tom  Weston  to  the  leading  newspapers  of  Australia, 
Europe  and  America,  offering  a  reward  for  any  informa- 
tion locating  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


CLEVER  JIM  MADISON   ACCOMPLISHES    THE    DEATH    OF  TUC- 
SON   JOE    AND    THE    CAPTURE    OF   TOM    WESTON. 

The  evening  that  Edith  and  Tom  Weston  were  mar- 
ried, as  we  have  already  seen,  Jim  Madison  and  Fred 
Wimmer — the  Mr.  James  and  Mr.  Brooks  who  engaged 
passage  on  the  merchantman  City  of  Brooklyn — left  the 
ship  and  did  not  return.  Why  they  did  so  is  thus  ac- 
counted for:  When  the  captain  returned  to  the  ship  and 
countermanded  his  order  to  sail  that  day,  he  told  the 
passengers  the  cause, of  the  delay. 

Jim's  suspicions  were  immediately  aroused,  and  so, 
to  assure  themselves  that  all  was  right,  he  and  Fred 
went  ashore  and  proceeded  at  once  to  the  hotel  where 
the  wedding  was  to  take  place.  As  a  result  of  this,  they 
saw  and  recognized  Weston,  but  they  did  not  see  Edith. 

"Fred,"  said  Jim,  "we  have  got  to  do  some  thing.  I 
would  rather  have  the  devil  after  rne  than  that  man.  I 
tell  you  what  it  is:  We  have  got  to  put  that  man  out  of 
the  way,  or  our  name  is  Dennis." 


"HELLO  THERE — TUCSON  JOE!     WHEREAWAY?' 
—243--- 


JIM    MADISON    PUZZLED.  24$ 

"But,  if  he  sails  for  New  York  today — or,  rather,  in 
the  morning — we  will  be  rid  of  him,  for  a  while  at  least, 
and  it  will  give  us  a  chance  to  get  out  of  the  way,"  sug- 
gested Fred. 

"It  will  only  give  us  a  little  time — that  is  all.  He 
will  surely  follow  us  up.  But  who  are  these  passengers 
for  whom  the  captain  is  waiting?  Weston  can  not  well 
be  one  of  them,  for  the  captain  said  they  were  a  gentle- 
man and  a  lady,  and  were  to  be  married  tonight,  in  order 
to  meet  the  proprieties  of  double-berth  accommodations. 
Hence  the  captain's  delay  in  sailing." 

"At  any  rate,  the  lady  in  question  can  not  be  Edith; 
for,  unless  she  bears  a  charmed  life,  she  is  dead.  No 
swimmer  that  ever  split  water  could  have  weathered  the 
storm  which  raged  that  night,"  declared  Fred. 

"No;  she  could  never  have  reached  the  shore — that 's 
a  fact." 

And,  deep  down  in  his  heart,  Jim  Madison  felt  a 
twinge  of  regret  at  the  awful  fate  of  the  dauntless  girl; 
for,  bad  man  though  he  was,  he  loved  the  proud  spirited 
girl.  Now  that  she  was  dead — and  he  felt  the  guilt  of 
her  cruel  death  resting  upon  himself — he  would  have 
given  all  his  ill-gotten  gains  to  undo  the  wrong  that  he 
had  done  her. 

Now  that  Edith  Beaty  was  dead,  as  he  all  but  knew, 
by  his  villainous  plot  to  break  her  proud  spirit,  to  ruin 
her  pure  and  spotless  life,  to  drag  her  down  to  a  level 
with  himself — for  she  had,  as  he  intended  she  should, 
scarcely  two  hours  before  her  desperate  attempt  to  save 
herself,  overheard  the  conversation  between  himself  and 


246  BEHIND   STAINED   GLASS. 

Fred,  detailing  their  hellish  plan  to  accomplish  her  ruin 
— Jim  Madison  experienced  that  awful  sensation  that 
comes  to  those  who  realize  they  have  forfeited  all  rights 
among  men  and  all  claims  before  the  Almighty. 

Now  that  his  beautiful  and  beloved  Edith  was  lying 
upon  the  coral  reef  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  the  two 
fugitives  felt  that  Weston  would  hound  them,  and  noth- 
ing save  death  would  stay  his  vengeful  hand. 

"Let  us  wait  till  morning  and  see  who  they  are,"  said 
Fred. 

Accordingly,  they  waited  till  morning  an'd  watched 
for  the  appearance  of  the  newly  married  couple,  in  order 
to  determine  their  identity  before  returning  to  the  ship. 

At  last  they  appeared,  and  passed  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  spot  where  Jim  and  Fred,  concealed  behind  the 
stained  glass  of  a  saloon  front,  stood  watching.  Con- 
sternation seized  them  when  they  recognized  little  Edith 
Beaty,  beautiful  and  happy,  leaning  upon  the  strong  arm 
of  Tom  Weston. 

"Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us!"  breath- 
lessly exclaimed  Jim  Madison.  "Edith  and  Tom — by 
the  Holy  Moses!" 

Pale  and  trembling,  he  stood  and  watched  them  as 
they  passed  by. 

Fred  Wimmer  could  find  no  words  to  express  the  con- 
sternation and  horror  which  seized  upon  his  guilty  heart 
as  he  beheld  alive  and  well  and  looking  more  beautiful 
than  ever  the  girl  for  whose  cruel  death  he  had  felt  him- 
self responsible  as  an  accomplice.  It  seemed  to  him  like 
the  hand  of  fate — a  fate  which  haunted  his  guilty  con- 


IN    TERROR.  247 


science   with  a  sickening  fear  of   a  certain  and  a  swiftly 
coming  doom. 

"In  the  name  of  God!"  he  groaned,  as,  at  last,  Fred 
found  utterance  for  that  awful  horror  which  had  seized 
upon  his  cowardly  heart.  "Has  the  sea  given  up  its  vic- 
tim? What  shall  \ve  do,  Jim?"  he  asked,  turning  to  his 


"A  GOOD  VIEW  OF  THE  HARBOR  COULD  BE  HAD." 

companion.       "Come — arouse  yourself!      We    have  no 
time  to  lose!     W'e  must  act  at  once!" 

"Come!  We  must  watch  and  see  if  they  leave  on 
the  ship!"  whispered  Jim,  breathlessly.  "If  we  could 
only  see  the  captain  and  tell  him  that  we  have  made 
other  arrangements — that  we  can  not  go  with  him." 


248  TUCSON    JOE    BOBS    UP. 


"But  we  can  't  do  that — so  let  them  go." 

"Go?"  interrupted  Jim,  excitedly.  "If  they  only  will 
go,  we  are  saved.  But  will  they  go?  NEVER!  For  the 
captain  of  the  City  of  Brooklyn — honest  old  duffer!— 
will  send  for  us,  suspicion  will  be  aroused,  and  that  dare- 
devil, Weston,  will  be  on  our  track  in  less  than  two  hours 
from  now. 

'  'Yes — some  thing  must  be  done,  Fred.  We  must 
devise  some  plan  to  outwit  him — to  mislead  him.  Come! 
Let  us  watch  and  see  what  they  do." 

Gaining  a  position  from  which  a  good  view  of  the 
harbor  could  be  had,  they  watched  the  ship. 

Soon  they  saw  the  captain's  boat  bearing  the  happy 
bride  and  her  husband  to  the  ship,  and,  a  little  later, 
they  saw  the  boat  return — evidently  in  search  of  them. 

"They  are  looking  for  us,"  cried  Jim,  excitedly;  "and 
if  I  mistake  not,  Tom  Weston  is  with  them.  By  -  — !" 
hissed  Jim,  with  an  oath,  "if  he  is  along,  there  is  yet  a 
fighting  chance  for  us!  We  must  manage  so  as  to  lead 
him  away  from  the  rest  of  them,  and  then  send  a  mes- 
sage to  Edith — our  old  trick.  She  will  bite  again." 

"Never  mind  the  girl,"  said  Fred.  "Let  her  go,  if 
she  will." 

"By  all  the  fiends  in  !"   cried  Jim,  exultantly. 

"Yonder  goes  Tucson  Joe.      Quick!     Let  us  overtake  the 
Bad  Man  from  Bitter  Creek." 

And  off  they  started  in  pursuit. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  had  come  up  with  him,  and 
had  enlisted  his  services  in  their  behalf  by  the  offering  of 
a  liberal  reward. 


JOE'S    HEADQUARTERS.  249 

"Now  to  work!"  exclaimed  Jim.  "The  first  thing  is 
to  lead  him  to  a  place  where  we  can  handle  him." 

"I  know  a  place,"  said  Tucson  Joe,  whar  we  kin  do 
ther  job,  and  fer  $500  I  '11  put  him  whar  he  '11  not  pester 
yer  agin.  I  Ve  got  an  ole  score  ter  settle  with  him,  any- 
how, and  I  mout  jest  as  well  do  both  jobs  at  wunst.  So 
come  on  down  ter  my  place,  and  we  '11  fix  it  up." 

Leading  the  way,  Tucson  Joe  piloted  Jim  and  Fred 
down  near  the  wharves,  among  the  low  dives  and  grog- 
geries  that  were  plentiful  there. 

Entering  a  gloomy-looking  building,  used  as  a  sort  of 
rookery  for  the  nesting  of  the  "wharf  rats,"  the  toughs 
and  all  such  as  could  not  afford,  or  did  not  prefer,  a  bet- 
ter place,  they  soon  found  themselves  in  Tucson  Joe's 
"headquarters." 

Vile  women,  dirty,  wretched  and  ill-clad  children  and 
drunken  men  leered  at  the  strangers  as  they  passed  on 
up  and  along  a  rickety  flight  of  stairs  to  a  room  in  the 
back  part  of  the  building. 

"This  is  my  place,"  said  Tucson  Joe.  "Set  down,  an' 
we  '11  'range  matters." 

"We  must  work  fast,"  declared  Jim.  "Weston  is  on 
shore,  but  he  may  return  to  the  ship  with  the  men  any 
time.  We  must  lure  him  away  from  them  and  get  him 
here  before  the  ship  leaves,  so  we  can  get  the  girl." 

"I  '11  tell  yer  how  we  kin  manage  him,"  said  Tucson 
Joe.  "I  '11  meet  him,  and  be  talkin'  with  him  'bout  you 
fellers,  an'  I  '11  git  him  ter  come  here,  somehow,  but  I 
don't  know  how  I  '11  do  it  yet.  I  '11  have  ter  see  him  an' 
talk  with  him  a  leetle  before  I  kin  'range  that  part  of  it. 


25O  JOE    FEIGNS    SURPRISE. 

You  two  fellers — you  jest  stay  here  till  I  report.  Yerkin 
bet  I  '11  fetch  him." 

So  saying,  Tucson  Joe  left  the  room.  Half  an  hour 
later,  he  met  Tom  Weston  on  the  street. 

"Hello  there — Tucson  Joe!  Where  away?"  hailed 
Tom. 

"Geewhiliken  Moses!"  exclaimed  Joe,  in  well  feigned 
surprise.  "Like  ter  knock  ther  head  off  'n  me  agin — 
now,  would  n't  yer?" 

"No — not  unless  I  had  as  good  a  cause  as  that  night 
at  the  Casino.  But  say,  Joe,  I  want  to  talk  with  you  a 
little." 

"All  right,  pard — fire  away." 

"You  knew  Jim  Madison,  did  n't  you?" 

"Yes;  I  knowed  him  some." 

"Well,  Joe,  there  is  a  reward  of  $10,000  offered  for 
his  arrest.  He  is  at  present  in  this  town,  and  if  you  can 
pick  him  up  I  will  see  that  you  get  the  money  just  as 
soon  as  you  point  him  out  to  me  or  the  police." 

"Moly  Hoses!"  cried  Joe.  "Ten  thousand  dollars! 
I  '11  jest  win  that  air  reward  immejitly,  or  my  name  ain't 
Tucson  Joe!  Say,  Tom!  By  h — ,  I  ain't  no  perticler 
friend  o'  your  'n,  but  I  've  got  er  leetle  racket  on  hand, 
and  I  '11  blow  on  'em — durn  me  if  I  don't.  I  know  whar 
Jim  and  his  pard  is  this  very  minute,  and  I  wus  a-work- 
in'  a  drive  fer  'em.  But  that  ten  thousand  beats  ther 
devil  all  outen  their  offer.  Come  with  me,  and  I  '11  show 
yer  whar  they  is.  Git  a  pleecemun,  ef  yer  want  er. " 

"Wait  for  me  till  I  send  a  note  to  my  wife,  to  have 
her  come  here.  Come  in  until  I  am  ready,"  said  Tom. 


HIDDEN    DANGER.  25! 


Here  they  entered  the  Victoria  Hotel,  where  Tom  wrote 
a  note  to  his  wife  and  then  sent  a  carriage  to  bring  her. 

"Give  this  letter  to  the  man  in  charge  of ^  the  boat, 
and  tell  him  to  deliver  it  to  the  lady  on  board  the  City  of 
Brooklyn,"  said  Tom,  as  the  carriage  drew  up  and  in- 
structions were  asked  for. 

"Yes,  sir,"  responded  the  driver,  and  drove  away. 

"Now,"  said  Tom,  "I  am  ready." 

"Wai,  what  shell  we  do?"  asked  Joe.  "Shell  we  git 
ther  pleece,  or  take  'em  ourselves?" 

"We  will  take  them  ourselves,"  replied  Tom. 

"Wai,  jest  as  yer  say;  it  makes  no  difference  ter  me 
at  all,"  replied  Joe,  carelessly.  "I  did  n't  know  but  yer 
mout  think  that  I  wus  tryin'  ter  run  a  drive  onter  yer." 

'  'If  you  are,  Joe,  I  will  kill  you  the  very  instant  that 
I  become  aware  of  it,"  said  Tom. 

"All  right — jest  kill  er  way." 

"I  am  ready.     Lead  the  way,"  said  Tom. 

"Roller  me,  then.  It  's  er  tough  place  where  they 
air,  I  kin  tell  yer,"  said  Joe,  as  he  struck  out  toward  the 
dock  district. 

A  half  mile  brought  them  to  the  "Rookery,"  as  it  was 
called.  Entering  the  building,  Joe  led  the  way  to  the 
room.  But  when  he  got  there  a  surprise  awaited  the 
treacherous  Joe. 

Treacherous  and  dishonorable  themselves,  Jim  and 
Fred  distrusted  every  one  else;  and  they  believed  that 
Tucson  Joe  would  betray  them  if  he  could  make  any 
thing  by  so  doing.  The  $10,000  reward  would  be  too 
much  of  a  temptation  for  him,  they  believed.  At  any 


252  AN    UNEQUAL    STRUGGLE. 

rate,  they  dared  not  trust  him.  It  would  suit  their  pur- 
pose if  he  lured  Weston  to  the  place.  He  could  then 
share  Weston's  fate. 

In  the  absence  of  Joe,  Jim  and  Fred  had  made  ar- 
rangements with  some  half-dozen  or  more  toughs  that 
were  lounging  about  the  place  to  capture  the  two  men. 
"I  hey  declared  that  Weston  was  a  detective,  and  was 
hunting  them  for  a  reward. 

Now,  these  men  had  almost  as  good  a  reason  to 
fear  and  hate  a  detective  as  Jim  and  Fred  had.  So,  an 
offer  of  $500  for  the  capture  of  the  detective  immedi- 
ately procured  the  desired  assistance  of  these  half-dozen 
men. 

Stationing  them  in  an  adjoining  room,  Jim  Madison 
and  his  companion  in  crime  awaited  the  return  of  Tucson 
Joe  with  their  victim. 

"Stop  here,"  said  Joe  in  a  low  tone,  as  they  paused 
before  the  door  of  his  room,  "while  I  see  if  every  thing 
is  all  right." 

Just  as  he  uttered  these  words  the  opposite  door  was 
opened,  and  six  men  with  drawn  revolvers  surrounded 
them,  while  at  the  same  time  the  door  before  which  they 
had  stopped  opened,  and  Jim  Madison  and  Fred  Wim- 
mer  appeared.  Pointing  to  Tom,  they  shouted: 

"There  is  the  detective!     Upon  him!" 

Quick  as  lightning  Tom's  revolver  flashed,  and  Tuc- 
son Joe  threw  up  his  hands  and  fell  to  the  floor — dead. 

Then  commenced  the  desperate  and  bloody  struggle 
— the  struggle  of  one  against  eight. 

Crippled  as  Tom  was,  it  required  some  little  time  be- 


THE    DUNGEON.  253 


fore  the  eight  men  could  overpower  him.  But  at  last, 
bruised  and  bleeding  from  the  thugs'  cruel  blows  and  ex- 
hausted by  his  desperate  efforts  to  escape,  he  was  borne 
to  the  floor — completely  overpowered. 

"Now,  then,  we  have  got  him!"  shouted  Jim,  in  glee. 
"Now,  what  shall  we  do  with  him?" 

"Put  him  out  of  the  way!  End  the  business  at  once!" 
answered  Fred. 

"I  reckon  that  is  about  the  only  thing  we  can  do," 
replied  Jim. 

But  here  an  unlocked  for  obstacle  presented  itself. 
One  of  the  men  stepped  forward  and  said:. 

"'Old  hon,  my  'arties!  Hi  'ave  ha  word  to  say  'ere. 
Hit  's  hagainst  our  principles  to  murder  ha  man  hafter 
'e  's  dishabled  and  captured.  We  've  got  ha  place  hex- 
pressly  designed  for  the  safe  keeping  of  such  victims  has 
'e  his,  hand  we  '11  keep  'im  huntil  ha  ransom  his  hoffered 
for  'im." 

Without  further  ado,  they  conveyed  him  to  a  dark, 
close  room,  which  Tom  knew  must  be  situated  beneath 
the  building. 

The  room — or  dungeon,  for,  indeed,  such  it  proved 
to  be — was  built  of  brick,  arched  overhead,  and  had  but 
one  door  and  two  small,  grated  openings,  which  served 
for  ventilating  purposes  only.  The  room  was  furnished 
with  a  bed,  a  table,  two  chairs,  a  lamp  and  a  few  books 
and  papers-  furnished  for  the  comfort  and  convenience 
of  the  unfortunate  victims  who  should  chance  to  be  con- 
fined there.  This  is  what  Tom  saw  in  that  quick,  search- 
ing glance  which  he  cast  about  him  as  he  found  himself 
alone. 


254  HELD    FOR    RANSOM. 

Well  might  a  man  despair  under  such  circumstances. 
But  Tom  Weston  was  not  a  man  who  would  give  up,  no 
matter  how  insurmountable  the  opposing  obstacles  might 
seem.  He  immediately  set  himself  to  devise  a  means  of 
escape,  hopeless  though  the  task  appeared. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 


JOHN   MASON   MEETS    ANOTHER  MAN   WHO    CAN  ALSO    DRIVE 
A    HARD    BARGAIN. 

In  the  evening  Tom's  jailer  came  and  brought  his  sup- 
per. He  asked  his  prisoner  if  there  was  any  message 
that  he  would  like  to  send  to  friends,  hinting  to  Tom  that 
a  ransom  might  be  taken  under  consideration. 

"About  how  much  of  a  ransom  do  you  expect,  sir?" 
asked  Tom. 

"Well,  I  can  't  'ardly  say  has  to  that  just  now.  You 
see,  there  his  no  particular  'urry  habout  the  matter.  Just 
think  the  matter  over  for  ha  few  days,  hand  see  habout 
what  you  can  hafford  to  give,"  said  the  man,  coolly. 

"I  can  send  a  message  then,  can  I?"  asked  Tom. 

"We  'ave  no  objection — providing  that  hit  's  hall 
right,"  replied  the  man. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  note  was  penciled  and  submitted 
to  the  censor,  who  read  it  and  promised  to  forward  it. 
But,  for  some  reason,  Edith  never  received  her  husband's 
note.  Another  note,  penned  by  another  hand,  was  sub- 
stituted for  it. 


'ToM's  JAILER  CAME  AND  GAVE  HIM  His  SUPPER." 
-255- 


UP    A    STUMP.  257 


The  interference  of  these  men,  though  it  ought  not 
to  have  been  entirely  unexpected,  for  both  Jim  and  Fred 
knew  them  to  be  blackmailers,  confidence  men,  burglars 
— in  fact,  any  thing  that  would  pay  them — was  so  sud- 
den that  for  a  time  Jim  and  his  friend  were  completely 
at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  or  how  to  proceed.  They 
could  ransom  their  dangerous  enemy,  but,  unfortunately 
for  them,  they  were  short  of  funds;  beside,  they  were  in 
no  little  peril  themselves. 

"We  are  up  a  stump!"  declared  Jim.  "The  only 
thing  that  I  know  of  that  we  can  do  now  is  to  prevent 
Edith  from  learning  any  thing  about  him.  If  we  can  so 
manage  as  to  get  hold  of  her,  we  can  win  yet." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Fred,  doubtfully. 
"If  we  meddle  with  her,  we  are  liable  to  get  into  a  snap. 
Beside,  I  do  not  believe  that  she  can  be  fooled  again. 
Neither  do  I  believe  such  an  effort  to  be  safe.  The  peo- 
ple at  the  Victoria  Hotel  are  mightily  taken  up  with  her, 
and,  if  she  should  disappear,  h- — 1  would  be  to  pay  and 
no  pitch  hot!  Let  us  stave  off  the  ransom  as  long  as 
possible.  We  can  tell  them  that  we  have  money  in  the 
United  States,  and  will  get  it  before  long.  If  that  is  not 
satisfactory,  then  threaten  to  expose  them." 

"That  's  just  the  card!"  exclaimed  Jim,  exultantly. 
"They  dare  not  make  any  arrangements  with  Edith  for 
Weston's  ransom.  Ours  are  the  winning  cards,  and  we 
can  play  them,  too!" 

"Yes — but  how  are  they  to  be    played?"  asked  Fred. 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Jim,  "we  must  come  to  an 
understanding  with  those  fellows  about  that  ransom  af- 


258 


HIGGLING. 


fair.      After  that  is  disposed  of,  attention  must  be  paid  to 
the  management  of  the  girl. " 

For  several  days  nothing  in  particular  was  done. 
Tom  Weston's  custodians  had  made  an  offer  to  deliver 
him  to  Jim  Madison  on  receipt  of  $6,000.  This  was  ac- 
cepted conditionally,  the  proviso  being  that  the  black- 
legs should  wait  a 
reasonable  period 
for  funds  to  reach 
Sidney  from  their 
agent  in  America. 

"We  will  do 
this,"  said  John 
Mason,  the  Eng- 
lishman, "provid- 
ed you  will  pay  ha 
bonus  hof  $1,000. 
We  'ave  got  to 
'ave  some  money 
hout  hof  this  right 
haway.  We  can 
git  hit  hof  'im,  but 
we  would  rather 
hacommodate  you 
hif  we  can.  You  hunderstand  our  proposition,  pard?" 

For  some  time  Jim  remained  silent. 

"Do  just  as  you  please,"  said  John  Mason.  "Hit 
makes  no  difference  to  me,  honly  hi  wanted  to  know  at 
wunst.  Weston  his  gittin'  himpatient;  'e  '11  come  round 
hin  no  time." 


JOHN  MASON. 


BLACKMAILER  VS.  BLACKMAILER.         259 

"Well,  I  will  accept  your  terms,  provided  you  will 
let  me  have  the  care  of  the  prisoner  till  I  get  the  money. 
I  must  see  after  him  and  decide  about  all  communica- 
tions, and  must  have  the  management  of  him." 

"Hi  cahn  't  hagree  to  that." 

"Can  't  agree  to  it!"  thundered  Jim,  in  a  rage  as  vio- 
lent as  it  was  sudden.  "By  the  eternal,  you  shall  agree 
to  it!  Listen!  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  get  this  money 
for  several  months — possibly,  not  before  Spring.  But  I 
want  to  tell  you,  John  Mason,  that  I  have  too  much  at 
stake  to  be  balked,  now  that  I  have  trapped  my  man.  I 
have  accepted  your  terms — now  you  shall  accept  my  time. 
I  tell — wait  till  I  am  done  speaking  before  you  answer — 
I  tell  you  I  will  not  be  balked  or  thwarted  in  this!  I  hold 
the  winning  cards,  and  I  will  play  them,  too,  if  your  ab- 
sorbing greed  makes  it  necessary!  I  will  expose  you  and 
bring  the  police  here  the  very  minute  that  you  refuse. 
Accept  my  time,  and  I  will  pay  you  $100  per  month  for 
keeping  him.  Refuse,  and  I  will  bring  the  police  here 
within  an  hour!" 

John  Mason  and  his  villainous  gang  had  about  as 
much  to  fear  from  a  visit  of  the  police  as  Jim  and  Fred 
had;  and,  being  a  coward,  he  dared  not  refuse  the  prop- 
osition. So,  after  considering  the  matter  and  concluding 
that  there  was  no  alternative,  John  Mason  answered: 

"Make  hit  han  'undred  hand  fifty  ha  month,  hand  we 
will  accept  hand  you  can  'ave  the  management  hof  'is 
business  has  long  has  you  pay  up  regular  hin  hadvance; 
hand  we  will  'elp  you  hall  we  can  beside." 

"Done!"  exclaimed  Jim,  extending  his  right  hand. 


26O  FRED    FEARS    EDITH. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 


WHILE    FRED    WIMMER    INSISTS    THAT    SOME    THING    IS    UP, 
HE   IS    ORDERED    TO   THROW    HIS    HANDS  UP. 

"Now,"  said  Jim,  as  he  and  Fred  found  themselves 
alone — "now  for  the  girl.  We  must  try  some  scheme  to 
lure  her  here." 

"Jim,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  it  won't  do  for  us  to  fool 
with  that  girl.  Just  as  sure  as  we  undertake  to  meddle 
with  her,  we  will  be  up  a  stump.  I  will  not  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  her.  Just  let  her  stay  where  she  is  till 
Weston  is  disposed  of;  then,  possibly,  you  can  manage 
her." 

"Well,  if  we  can  just  manage  to  keep  her  quiet  for 
a  little  while,  I  '11  guarantee  that  Mr.  Tom  Weston  steps 
down  and  out  of  our  way,"  said  Jim. 

Thus  the  plan  was  laid,  and  for  several  months  it  was 
carried  out  to  the  best  of  their  ability.  But  matters  did 
not  develop  to  their  entire  satisfaction,  for  Tom  Weston 
had  not  yet  "stepped  down  and  out."  At  last  the  dark 
clouds  of  the  gathering  storm  began  to  hover  about  the 
heads  of  the  two  adventurers.  The  thunder  of  a  just 
vengeance  muttered  in  a  warning  tone  their  pending  fate, 
but  they  heeded  it  not. 

As  the  Winter  months  dragged  slowly  by — months 
which  to  them  were  months  of  anxiety,  of  uncertainty, 
of  danger  and  dread,  and  of  the  deepest  fear  lest  their 
prisoner  should  escape,  lest  Edith's  suspicions  should  be 
aroused,  lest  their  treacherous  accomplices  in  crime 


DESPERATE    STRAITS.  263 

should  discover  their  identity  and  betray  them  for  the 
reward — they  were  so  haunted  and  tormented  that  they 
had  decided  upon  a  desperate  plan  to  accomplish  their 
ends. 

Seven  months  had  passed,  and  their  finances  were  so 
nearly  exhausted  that  they  could  wait  no  longer  without 
betraying  their  true  condition. 

"It  is  no  use,"  declared  Jim.  "We  must  act  before 
another  pay  day  comes  around.  There  is  no  delaying  it 
any  longer. " 

"But  what  shall  we  do?"  asked  Fred,  dubiously.  "I 
don't  like  this  business.  You  have  spent  every  cent  of 
your  money,  and  have  gained  nothing.  It  is  no  use.  I 
can  't  throw  my  money  away.  I  have  done  all  that  I  can 
do  for  you." 

"Hold  on,  Fred!"  cried  Jim,  threateningly.  "You 
are  in  for  this.  You  can  not  go  back  on  me  at  this  ad- 
vanced stage  of  the  game.  Wait  till  I  tell  you  what  I 
propose  to  do.  We  must  kidnap  Edith,  and  then  make 
Tom  come  to  terms.  The  first  thing  that  we  must  do  is 
to  give  her  to  understand  that  we  are  holding  her  hus- 
band a  prisoner  some  where — say  in  New  York.  By  the 
eternal!  I  wish  we  had  him  there  instead  of  here.  She 
will  go  to  New  York,  and  once  we  get  her  there  I  will 
take  care  of  her  all  right.  We  will  have  to  let  Tom  go. 
We  can  't  do  any  thing  with  him.  They  will  not  give  him 
up,  and  we  can  not  get  him.  If  we  could  only  find  the 
place  where  he  is  concealed,  things  could  be  managed 
quite  differently;  but,  in  spite  of  all  that  I  can  dp,  I  can 
not  find  where  he  is  hidden." 


264 


"  'ANDS  HUP!" 


"I  tell  you,    Jim,"   declared  Fred,    "that  some  thing 
is  up.      Twice  in  the  last  few  days  I  have  been  dogged 
here,  and  I  am  not  going  to  stay  here  another  day.    The 
men  here  are  up  to 
some  thing.      I  have 
been    warned     by    a 
particular    friend    of 
mine." 

"What  were  you 
warned  of?"  asked 
Jim. 

"That  some  thing 
is  up.  I  don't  pro- 
pose to  stay  and  see 
what  it  is." 

"By  — ,  but 
you  shall  stay  here 
and 

Here  the  door 
was  opened,  and  six 
masked  and  armed 
men  entered  the 
room,  closed  the 
door  behind  them, 
and  demanded  in  a 
threatening  tone: 

"  'Ands  hup!"    And  the  ominous  click  of  a  half-dozen 
revolvers  emphasized  the  demand. 

Abject  cowards  as  were  Jim  and  Fred,  they  dared  not 
disobey,    and   consequently  in  a  moment   the  two  were 


•DOGGED." 


JIM    JOINS    TOM.  265 


disarmed.  Jim  was  bound  and  blindfolded,  and  then  led 
away  raging  and  fuming  in  the  most  abj'ect  fear.  He 
first  threatened,  then  begged  and  finally,  all  else  failing, 
he  burst  into  tears.  Between  his  sobs  he  managed  to 
ask  where  they  were  taking  him. 

"For  God's  sake,"  he  wailed,  "don't  deliver  me  up 
to  the  police — don't!" 

"No  use,  my  'arty, "declared  John  Mason.  "We  'ave 
struck  a  better  lay." 

"But  where  are  you  taking  me?"  asked  Jim. 

"To  the  dungeon,"  replied  his  captors.  "You  'ave 
been  trying  to  get  there  for  ha  long  time,  so  we  thought 
that  we  would  hacommodate  you.  Furthermore,  our  old 
pard,  Tom  Weston,  wants  to  see  you.  'E  wants  to  'ave 
ha  little  chat  with  you." 

'  'O  my  God!"  wailed  Jim,  as  the  horrible  truth  flashed 
upon  his  mind  that  he  had  been  betrayed.  "O  my  God! 
Don't  take  me  to  him!" 

Had  they  not  supported  him,  Jim  Madison  would  un- 
doubtedly have  fallen  to  the  ground  from  sheer  fright. 
But  strong  arms  carried  him  down  the  long,  narrow  pas- 
sage to  the  dungeon,  where  Tom  Weston  had  spent  so 
many  dreary  months. 


266  PATIENCE    EXHAUSTED. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


TOM  WESTON   BAGS    HIS   GAME,    BUT    EDITH    MYSTERIOUSLY 
DISAPPEARS    FROM    HER    HOTEL. 

Days,  weeks  and  months  passed,  and  the  lonely  oc- 
cupant of  the  dungeon  had  lost  all  count  of  time.  Yet 
he  did  not  despair.  When  first  he  found  himself  a  pris- 
oner, he  began  to  cast  about  him  for  a  means"  of  escape. 

But  as  time  dragged  heavily  on  till  it  lengthened  out 
from  days  to  weeks  and  from  weeks  to  months  without 
an  opportunity  of  escape  offering  itself,  and  as  further 
restraint  was  becoming  unbearable,  Tom  determined  on 
a  bold  and  reckless  plan  of  escape. 

He  had  learned  that  he  owed  his  long  imprisonment 
solely  to  Jim  Madison,  and  he  resolved  not  only  to  make 
his  escape,  but  to  have  revenge. 

Nearly  eight  months  had  passed  since  that  fateful  day 
when  he  entered  the  old  "Rookery,"  and  all  this  time  he 
had  been  waiting.  Now,  he  believed,  the  time  had  come 
for  him  to  act.  The  men  were  dissatisfied  with  Jim,  and 
lately  they  had  detected  him  in  his  efforts  to  locate  the 
dungeon.  So,  in  consequence  of  all  this,  Tom  began 
feeling  his  way.  Slowly  and  cautiously  he  proceeded  at 
first,  but  when  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  the  coast  was 
clear,  he  came  out  boldly  with  his  offer,  which  was  ac- 
cepted readily. 

He  told  them  of  the  $10,000  reward  offered  for  the 
arrest  of  Jim  Madison,  and  added: 


'!N  AN  INSTANT  TOM  WAS  BESIDE  HER." 
— 267 — 


TOM'S    CORDIAL    GREETING.  269 

"Bring  Jim  Madison  here  and  leave  him  with  me  till 
I  can  arrange  the  matter  with  my  wife.  She  has  got  the 
money,  and  will  pay  the  reward." 

But  here  arose  a  new  difficulty.  If  they  were  to  let 
him  go,  there  would  still  be  a  chance  for  Edith  to  prose- 
cute them. 

They  must  first  see  her,  and  make  arrangements  with 
her  about  it;  but  Tom  would  not  hear  to  this.  He  was 
bound  to  punish  them  for  the  suffering  which  they  had 
brought  upon  his  little  wife.  Although  he  had  agreed  not 
to  prosecute  them  himself,  he  was  resolved  that  his  wife 
should  be  at  liberty  to  enter  proceedings  against  them. 
With  this  object  in  view,  he  had  decided  upon  a  plan. 
Desperate  though  it  was,  he  was  fully  determined  to 
carry  it  out.  So  he  gave  them  to  understand  that  he 
would  accede  to  their  terms. 

"Deliver  Jim  Madison  to  me  at  least  a  week  before 
you  make  any  attempt  to  arrange  the  other  matter,"  said 
Tom.  "I  want  to  settle  a  little  matter  between  us." 

"Hall  right,"  said  John  Mason,  and  left  him. 

Not  long  after,  Jim  Madison,  pale  and  almost  faint- 
ing from  the  horror  of  meeting  the  man  whom  he  had  so 
greatly  wronged,  was  brought  to  the  dungeon. 

"Ah,  Jim,  my  dear  friend!  I  am  so  very,  very  glad 
to  meet  you!"  exclaimed  Tom.  "What?  Have  you  no 
word  of  greeting?"  he  asked  in  a  low,  deep  tone  that 
quivered  with  the  awful  passion  that  raged  within  him. 
"Sit  down,  my  dear  boy!  I  want  to  talk  withjou." 

Tom  told  him  of  the  murder  of  old  John  Beaty,  of 
the  mother's  death,  of  the  noble  girl's  work,  of  the  find- 


2/O  GARROTED. 


ing  of  the  murdered  man's  remains  and  the  knife,  of  their 
long  pursuit,  of  his  base  and  vile  treatment  of  Edith,  of 
the  reason  why  she  had  made  the  desperate  effort  to  get 
ashore  from  his  vessel  in  the  face  of  the  storm  which  she 
knew  to  'be  approaching,  and  last,  if  not  least,  of  the 
misery  brought  upon  her  by  the  uncertain  fate  of  her 
husband. 

For  three  days  Tom  Weston  lingered  about  his  vic- 
tim. He  did  him  n.)  violence,  yet  in  those  three  days 
Jim  Madison  was  made  to  suffer  the  torments  of  a  thou- 
sand deaths. 

Haggard  and  almost  bereft  of  his  reason,  he  sank 
down  in  a  fit  at  the  end  of  the  third  day,  and  was  un- 
conscious when  John  Mason,  the  jailer,  brought  them 
their  supper. 

This  was  the  opportunity  for  which  Tom  had  worked 
and  waited.  Nerving  himself  for  the  ordeal,  he  waited 
for  Mason  to  enter. 

"  'Ello  "ere!"  exclaimed  the  jailer,  as  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  prostrate  Jim — convulsed  and  foaming  at  the  mouth. 
"  'E  's  got  'em  this  time,  sure  enough!" 

These  words  were  scarcely  out  of  John  Mason's  mouth 
when,  with  a  bound,  Tom  sprang  upon  him  and  seized 
him  by  the  throat.  Then  for  a  few  moments  followed  a 
desperate  and  savage  struggle — a  struggle  that  could  only 
end  with  the  life  of  one  of  the  contestants.  Tom's  iron 
grip  never  relaxed  its  hold  on  his  antagonist's  throat  till, 
black  and  quivering,  he  lay  still — as  Tom  believed  and 
intended — in  death. 

"Now  for  the  next!"  muttered  Tom,  as  he  appropri- 


PRISONER    BECOMES    JAILER. 


271 


ated  Mason's  revolver  and  knife.      These  weapons  were 
duly  examined  and  properly  bestowed. 

Going  to  the  door,  Tom  gave  the  same  signal  that  he 
had  seen  Mason  give  so  many  times  before.  Immediately 
the  door  opened,  and  before  the  man  who  had  been  left 
there  could  cry  out  or  resist  Tom  dealt  him  a  crushing 
blow  full  over  the  right  temple  with  the  butt  end  of  his 

revolver,  and  he 

fell  heavily  on 
the  floor,  quiv- 
ering in  death. 
Tom  dragged 
the  man  inside 
the  dungeon  and 
closed  and  se- 
curely locked 
the  door. 

"There!  For 
a  little  while  I 
will  play  keeper 
myself." 

Turning  to  leave  the  loathsome  den,  he  found  him- 
self in  a  dark,  narrow  passage  at  the  foot  of  a  long  and 
rickety  flight  of  stairs  that  were  so  narrow  and  steep  he 
could  with  difficulty  ascend. 

Picking  his   way   slowly   along,    he  climbed  up  what 

seemed  to  him   the   space  of  two  stories,  when  he  came 

to  a  half-open  door  that   opened   into  a  small  bed  room. 

Approaching  the   door  cautiously,  he   beheld  before 

him  and  sitting  with  her  back  toward  him  a  rather  grace- 


'ToM  SPRANG    UPON   HIM.' 


2/2  FREEDOM    REGAINED. 

ful  and  stylish  young  lady,  who  was  deeply  interested  in 
the  absorbing  and  enchanting  plot  of  a  late  French  yel- 
low back  novel.  In  an  instant  Tom  was  at  her  side,  and 
in  a  tone  of  stern  command  he  said: 

"Silence!  I  will  not  harm  you.  Come  with  me,  and 
lead  me  out  of  this  robbers'  roost!  Pilot  me  to  the  street, 
and  I  '11  let  you  go.  Not  a  word — on  your  life!  Lead 
the  way!" 

Obeying,  she  led  him  down  a  long  and  shaky  flight  of 
stairs,  at  the  foot  of  which  she  opened  a  door  and  said 
in  apparent  unconcern: 

"This  leads  to  the  street.  Will  you  send  the  police 
here?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?' 

"That  I  may  avoid  them,"  she  replied. 

"Go,  then;  for  the  police  will  be  here  within  an  hour 
at  farthest,"  said  Tom,  as  he  disappeared  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  reached  the  police  station 
and  reported  the  case.  He  also  gave  the  officer  in  charge 
directions  for  locating  the  dungeon. 

"Is  this  Tom  Weston?"   inquired   the  police  captain. 

"Yes." 

"Your  wife  was  here  yesterday.  I  think  she  started 
for  New  York  this  morning." 

"My  God!" 

Without  another  word,  Tom  started  on  a  run  for  the 
Victoria  Hotel.  Reaching  that  hostelry,  he  learned  that 
Edith  had  departed  at  ten  o'clock  that  very  morning  for 
New  York. 


THE  SEA  NYMPH  WRECKED.  2/3 

"So  near  and  yet  so  far!  O  God!  Why  could  n't  I 
have  been  a  little  sooner!"  moaned  Tom. 

"Is  there  any  thing  that  I  can  do  for  you,  Mr.  Wes- 
ton?"  asked  the  proprietor. 

"No — nothing!  Yes!  When  is  there  a  vessel  for 
New  York?' 

"In  four  days!" 

"Four  days!     And  must  I  wait  all  that  time?" 

"You  will  not  lose  much  by  it,"  said  the  proprietor, 
"for  the  steamer  that  leaves  here  four  days  hence  gets 
into  port  at  New  York  only  twelve  hours  later  than  the 
one  upon  which  your  wife  sailed." 

Half  an  hour  later,  a  telegram  reached  Sidney,  say- 
ing that  the  Sea  Nymph — the  vessel  upon  which  Edith 
sailed — had  been  driven  upon  the  rocks  and  was  lost. 

The  passengers  and  crew  were,  exce/f  t  three,  saved — 
so,  at  least,  stated  the  telegram.  Then  followed  the  list 
of  the  missing,  but  Edith's  name  did  not  appear  among 
them. 

Anxiously  hoping  that  he  might  be  so  fortunate  as  to 
reach  the  scene  of  the  disaster  before  Edith  should  leave, 
Tom  set  out  immediately  and  with  all  haste  for  the  place 
where  the  wreck  occurred.  He  arrived  there  at  four 
o'clock  the  next  evening. 

Searching  diligently  among  the  survivors  and  shore 
men,  he  was  at  last  rewarded  by  what  he  hoped  would 
prove  a  valuable  clew.  At  any  rate,  the  description  an- 
swered very  well. 

"But  this  air  wor  a  boy,"  persisted  the  old  shore  man 
whom  Tom  had  questioned. 


274  BOTH    AFLOAT. 


"She  may  be  disguised  as  a  boy ' 

"Wai,  I  svvow!"  broke  in  the  old  man. 

"She  is  not  very  large;  rather  slim;  dark-blue  eyes; 
hair  short  and  curly;  quite  pretty."  Tom  gave  this  de- 
scription with  evident  pride. 

"This  air  gal — if  it  be  a  gal — wor  not  so  very  slim; 
but  she  wor  purty  as  a  pictur,  and  she  saved  a  baby's  life 
what  was  drifting  away." 

"And  she  went  to  San  Francisco,  you  say?"  queried 
Tom. 

"She  said  she  wor  goin'  thar,  but  she  wor  goin'  tew 
Farmingtown  from  here.  She  '11  have  tew  wait  thar  till 
a  steamer  goes  tew  'Frisco,"  said  the  shore  man. 

"Well,  to  Farmingtown  T  '11  go.  Maybe,  I  can  over- 
take her  there,"  said  Tom. 

On  reaching  the  place,  he  was  again  disappointed; 
for  the  person  he  described  had  left,  not  six  hours  before, 
for  New  York,  by  way  of  Yokohama  and  San  Francisco 
Fortunately  a  steamer,  the  Golden  Gate,  had  just  the. 
touched  at  the  pier  on  her  way  to  San  Francisco  direct. 
Tom  barely  had  time  to  secure  passage. 

In  due  time  he  arrived  at  San  Francisco  and  looked 
about  for  Edith. 

On  inquiring  at  the  ticket  office,  he  learned  that  a 
boy  answering  to  his  description  had  purchased  a  ticket 
there,  and  had  started  for  New  York  scarcely  two  hours 
before. 

"I  want  to  send  a  message  to  a  person  on  that  train," 
said  Tom.  He  dictated  the  message  and  awaited  results. 
In  the  land  of  the  telegraph — the  home  land  of  the  tele- 
graph— one  seldom  waits  long. 


•WHAT  Is  IT?"  ASKED  THE  GIRL. 
—276— 


VAIN    SEARCH.  2/7 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 


EDITH    REJOINS    HER    HUSBAND,     AND  A  THIRD    AND    INTER- 
ESTING   PARTY    JOINS    THE    HAPPY    COUPLE. 

"Oh,  I  can  not  stand  this  any  longer!"  exclaimed  the 
unhappy  Edith.  "I  will  search  for  Tom — I  will  find  rny 
noble,  loving  husband!" 

Dissuasion  and  remonstrance  of  friends  fell  on  deaf 
ears. 

Disguising  herself  in  boy's  attire — as  she  had  often 
done  before — she  went  among  the  dark  dens  of  vice, 
wretchedness  and  crime  along  the  docks  and  adjacent 
streets. 

Here  among  the  toughs,  blacklegs  and  the  lowest  and 
most  wretched  scum  of  a  great  city's  population,  she 
toiled  and  worked  with  that  undaunted  courage  and  un- 
ceasing and  persistent  energy  which  had  borne  her  so 
triumphantly  through  many  dark  and  desperate  strug- 
gles. Here  she  had  dogged  the  footsteps  of  Fred  Wim- 
mer  even  to  the  very  door  of  the  house  where  Tom,  in 
his  dark  and  dreary  dungeon,  was  perfecting  his  plan  of 
escape. 

One  day,  along  toward  evening,  she  had  trailed  her 
victim  to  the  docks,  where  he  had  gone  to  the  ticket  of- 
fice and  purchased  a  ticket  for  New  York,  and  then  had 
gone  aboard  the  steamer.  There  his  impatience  tortured 
him  as  he  waited  to  sail,  for  he  had  not  felt  safe  since  his 
discovery  that  he  was  being  shadowed. 


278  EXIT    FRED. 


Following  him  aboard  the  great  ship,  Edith  pointed 
out  Fred  Wimmer  to  the  police  officer,  who  attempted 
to  place  him  under  arrest.  Fred  resisted  the  officer,  and 
was  shot  dead. 

Thus  the  lips  that  might  have  revealed  the  where- 
abouts of  Tom  Weston  and  Jim  Madison  were  for  ever 
sealed  in  death. 

All  further  search  failed  to  turn  up  any  thing  concern- 
ing either  Tom  or  Jim.  Edith  became  convinced  that 
her  husband  was  slain,  and  resolved  to  avenge  his  death, 
if  possible. 

Now  that  Fred  was  dead,  all  hope  of  gaining  any  in- 
formation from  him  vanished,  of  course.  But  there  was 
one  erroneous  conclusion  which  Fred's  actions  had  led 
Edith  to  form.  She  argued  that,  as  Fred  was  going  to 
New  York,  Jim  Madison  was  either  with  him  or  had  pre- 
ceded him.  She  could  never  have  guessed  the  cause  of 
their  separation. 

She  could  see  nothing  for  her  to  do.  except  to  extend 
her  pursuit  of  Jim  to  New  York.  With  this  purpose  in 
mind,  she  embarked  on  the  Sea  Nyrnph. 

The  day  of  Edith's  departure  from  Sidney  dawned 
beautiful  and  full  of  promise,  and  the  proud  ship  bound- 
ed lightly  over  the  shining  sea  on  her  course,  bearing  her 
burden  of  precious  human  lives. 

Twelve  hours  later,  a  dense  fog  enveloped  them,  and 
the  proud  ship  struck  upon  some  hidden  rocks  and  went 
down.  So  sudden  was  her  sinking,  there  was  scarcely 
time  for  the  boats  to  be  manned  and  the  passengers  to 
be  taken  off. 


OX  WARD STILL    ONWARD. 


279 


Edith  \vas  fortunate  in  being  among  the  first  batch  of 
passengers  taken  off  the  sinking  ship,  and  still  more  so 
in  securing  passage  to  a  small  town  on  the  coast.  Here 
she  caught  a  regular  line  steamer  for  San  Francisco,  and 
reached  the  Sunset  City  after  a  pleasant  voyage. 

Arriving  at  San  Francisco,    she  immediately  repaired 

to  the  railroad 
depot  and  bought 
a  ticket  for  New 
York  City.  She 
entered  the  train 
at  the  earliest 
moment  possible 
and  impatiently 
awaited  its  de- 
parture for  the 
East.  At  the 
minute  scheduled 
the  train  pulled 
out  and  went  fly- 
ing away  up  the 
great  Sacramen- 
to valley. 

Well  nigh  ex- 
hausted by  her 
long  sea  voyage,  Edith  settled  herself  down  as  comfort- 
ably as  possible  for  the  long  ride  across  the  continent. 

On  thundered  the  train,  seemingly  at  lightning  speed 
— on  through  the  beautiful  Valley  of  the  Sacramento — 
then  struck  boldly  out  across  the  country  and  began  to 
climb  the  great  Sierras. 


•SETTLED  HERSELF  FOR  A  LONG  RIDE." 


28O  CALLED    BACK. 


Here,  nestling  in  a  pleasant  little  valley,  was  a  small 
village,  and  here  the  train  stopped  for  a  few  minutes. 

Scarcely  had  the  train  stopped  when  the  telegraph 
operator  handed  a  message  to  the  conductor,  and  asked 
him  to  go  through  the  coaches  and  read  it  aloud,  so  that 
if  the  person  for  whom  it  was  intended  was  aboard  she 
would  hear  it  read. 

As  the  conductor  entered  the  coach  in  which  Edith 
was  riding  he  read  the  telegram,  and  was  about  to  pass 
on,  as  no  response  was  made,  when  he  noticed  the  rather 
attractive-looking  figure  of  Edith,  who  happened  to  be 
asleep  at  the  time. 

"Here,  my  lad — wake  up!"  said  the  conductor,  shak- 
ing her  gently. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  startled  girl. 

"See  if  this  interests  you,"  said  the  conductor,  and 
he  read: 

"EDITH  WESTON:  Return  to  the  Golden  Gate  Hotel,  San  Fran- 
cisco. TOM." 

"At  last!  At  last!  O  thank  God!"  cried  the  girl, 
joyously. 

"You  will  stop  here,"  said  the  conductor,  for  he  saw 
that  his  strange  passenger  was  not  only  deeply  moved  by 
the  message,  but  was  a  remarkably  beautiful  young  lady 
in  disguise.  "There  will  be  a  train  going  back  in  fifteen 
minutes  upon  which  you  can  go." 

"I  thank  you  for  waking  me,  sir,"  said  Edith,  as  she 
left  the  train. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  she  started  back  for  the  Golden 
Gate. 


A    JOYFUL    REUNION.  28 1 

Bounding  down  the  mountain  slope,  then  dashing 
away  across  the  country;  now  down  the  broad  Sacra- 
mento, and  finally  coming  to  a  stop  in  the  great  railway 
depot  of  the  Sunset  City — thus  flew  the  anxious,  loving 
wife  to  meet  her  faithful  husband. 

As  Edith  stepped  from  the  train  and  cast  an  eager, 
expectant  glance  over  the  crowd  of  people,  she  saw  the 
broad  shoulders  and  well  known  form  of  Tcm  Weston, 
as  he  paced  back  and  forth,  scanning  the  faces  of  the 
passengers  in  evident  anxiety. 

A  light  hand  rested  upon  his  arm,  and,  turning,  he 
beheld  the  boy  described  by  the  old  Australian  shore 
man. 

-Edith!" 

And,  all  unmindful  of  the  vast  crowd  of  curious  peo- 
ple who  surged  about  him,  he  folded  the  slight  form  in 
his  strong  arms. 

"Tom!"  cried  Edith,  joyously. 

"Hack,  sir?" 

"Yes.      To  the  Golden  Gate." 

Three  weeks  had  passed,  and  on  this  beautiful  Spring 
morning  Tom  Weston  was  made  doubly  happy.  During 
the  night  a  wee  creature,  as  if  borne  from  Heaven  upon 
angel  wings,  had  paused  in  her  flight  and  rested  upon 
the  fair,  warm  bosom  of  the  happy  little  wife  and  doting 
mother— Edith  Weston.  Such  a  wee  thing  it  was,  and 
so  delicate  and  beautiful,  that  one  could  scarcely  feel 
convinced  that  it  was  really  a  mortal  and  belonged  to  the 
earth.  Happy  Edith!  Never  was  a  mother  more  dem- 
onstrative in  her  transports  of  joy. 


282  BABY    MINE. 


"O  Tom!"  murmured  Edith,  as  she  felt  his  warm  kiss 
upon  her  pale  cheek.  "God  has  rewarded  me  again  for 
all  my  sufferings — for  all  my  troubles  and  disappoint- 
ments. "See,  Tom!"  And  she  showed  him  their  little 
treasure. 

"But,  Tom" — and  her  fine  eyes,  filled  with  tears  of 
joy,  dilated  and  for  a  moment  that  strange,  wild  look 
which  he  had  seen  there  so  many  times  before  flashed 
from  them  as  she  asked  the  question — "do  you  know  any 
thing  of  Jim  Madison?" 

"I  won't  tell  you  now,  Edith,"  answered  Tom.  "By- 
and-by,  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  Just  as  soon  as  you 
are  able,  we  will  go  down  to  Los  Angeles  and  look  up 
the  little  home  that  we  were  talking  about  so  long  ago. 
We  have  got  the  happy  little  family  now,  and,  to  make 
the  dream  complete,  we  must  have  the  little  home." 


"On!     WHAT  A  LOVELY  PLACE!' 
—284— 


JIM    A   CANNIBAL.  285 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


EDITH    ACKNOWLEDGES    THE     REALIZATION    OF     HER    GIRL- 
HOOD'S   BRIGHTEST    DREAMS. 

Two  months  after  the  meeting  of  Tom  and  Edith  at 
San  Francisco,  Tom  received  a  letter  from  police  head- 
quarters at  Sidney,  stating  that  t\\o  weeks  after  he  left 
for  America  John  Mason's  dungeon  was  discovered.  Jim 
Madison,  reduced  to  a  skeleton  by  starvation  and  bereft 
of  reason  by  the  awful  torment  which  had  racked  his 
soul,  was  found  within  it,  together  with  the  dead  bodies 
of  two  men,  upon  whose  rotting  flesh  he  was  at  the  time 
of  his  discovery  feasting. 

"O  Tom!"  cried  Edith,  as  he  finished  reading  the 
letter.  "What  an  awful  retribution!  How  terribly  he 
must  have  suffered!  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Tom." 

"All  right,  Kid;  I  will  tell  you." 

Tom  then  told  his  wife  in  detail  the  story  of  dreary 
months  passed  in  the  dungeon — of  his  plan  for  vengeance 
and  his  desperate  fight  for  liberty. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  "I  left  him  there.  I  intended 
that  he  should  suffer,  but  not  quite  so  much  nor  so  long. 
I  did  not  know  whether  the  other  two  men  were  dead; 
neither  did  I  care.  Horrible!  Horrible!  How  he  must 
have  suffered!  Twelve  days!  Indeed,  he  had  plenty  of 
time  to  think  over  his  wicked  life — to  think  of  each  sep- 
arate crime  he  had  committed.  Ah!  I  wonder  if  he 
remembered  the  Kid?  I  wonder  if  he  remembered  little 


286  SINS    RECOUNTED. 


Edith?  I  wonder  if  he  remembered  her  murdered  father 
and  worse  than  murdered  mother?  I  wonder  if  he  then 
remembered  the  vile  insults— his  fiendish  plot  to  break 
her  proud  spirit,  to  ruin  the  pure  life  of  his  little  captive 
— and,  last,  the  long  months  of  suffering  which  he  had 
brought  upon  her  by  depriving  her  of  her  husband  at  a 
time  when,  above  all  others,  she  most  needed  his  care 
and  protection?  Horrible  as  his  suffering  must  have  been, 
I  think  it  was  merited." 

"Yes — it  was  indeed  awful!"  said  the  proud  little 
mother,  as  she  pressed  to  her  heart  her  newly  found  and 
greatly  prized  treasure.  "But,  Tom,  what  is  to  be  done 
with  him  now?  Have  they  sent  for  instructions  concern- 
ing him?" 

"Yes.  They  want  to  know  what  is  to  be  done  with 
him.  I  think  we  should  let  him  remain  where  he  is  till 
he  has  recovered  his  reason — if  he  ever  does.  Then  he 
shall  be  brought  here  and  turned  over  to  the  proper  civil 
authorities.  His  must  be  a  life-long  punishment." 

And  so,  as  it  was  decided  to  let  him  remain,  instruc- 
tions were  sent  and  all  necessary  arrangements  made  for 
his  comfort  and  medical  treatment  at  the  asylum  for  the 
insane. 

"Now,"  said  Tom,  after  this  business  was  attended 
to,  "we  will  go  and  look  at  that  place  that  I  was  telling 
you  of  when  we  were  at  Los  Angeles." 

"Perhaps  it  is  sold  before  now, "  said  Edith.  "We 
promised  to  go  and  look  at  it  in  a  few  days.  That  was 
a  year  ago." 

"Oh,  there  is  not  the  least  danger  that  it  has  been 


TOM'S    SEASIDE    VILLA.  287 

sold.  We  will  go  and  look  at  it  and  see  how  you  like  its 
location  and  surroundings." 

Three  days  later,  Tom  and  Edith  found  themselves 
again  in  Los  Angeles. 

Paying  a  visit  to  the  land  agent,  they  made  arrange- 
ments with  him  about  the  property,  a  description  of 
which  had  so  greatly  pleased  Edith  the  year  before. 

"I  will  drive  you  out  any  day,"  said  the  agent,  "and 
let  Mrs.  West  on  see  for  herself.  It  is  the  best  place  that 
I  have  the  care  of  at  present;  in  fact,  it  is  the  most  de- 
sirable location  that  I  know  of." 

The  place  proved  to  be  fully  up  to  the  highest  expec- 
tations of  the  home  seekers — a  veritable  paradise. 

A  beautiful  little  cottage  situated  near  a  small  inlet — 
too  small  to  be  a  refuge  for  large  vessels,  but  making  a 
safe  and  beautiful  harbor  for  the  pleasure  boats  of  the 
villagers — upon  the  gently  sloping  hillside,  overlooking 
the  bay  and  the  little  village  upon  the  opposite  shore, 
while  away  in  the  distance,  over  a  stretch  of  some  half- 
dozen  miles  of  rolling  fields,  orchards,  vineyards  and 
gardens,  dotted  here  and  there  with  groves  of  oranges 
and  olives  and  towering  evergreens,  and  the  giant  oaks, 
whose  dark  and  variegated  foliage  painted  the  landscape 
in  beautiful  tints  of  green  and  gold — beyond  these  lay 
the  placid  waters  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  upon  whose  level 
surface  floated  stately  ships  from  every  nation,  and  in- 
numerable white-winged  coasting  vessels  and  craft  of  all 
descriptions  flitted  restlessly  or  lay  basking  in  the  warm 
sun  like  things  of  life  and  beauty. 

Behind  rose  the  sloping  hills,  upon  whose  sunny  sides 


288  EVERY  PROSPECT  PLEASES. 

the  orange  groves  and  vineyards  painted  pictures  of  pur- 
pie  and  gold,  and  in  whose  valleys  nestled  the  beautiful 
cottage  honies  of  many  prosperous  and  happy  families. 

"What  a  lovely  place!"  exclaimed  Edith,  as  she 
stood  on  the  vine-covered  porch  of  her  future  home  and 
surveyed,  with  a  feeling  of  rapture  almost  approaching 
perfect  bliss,  the  surrounding  scenery. 

"Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  and  home-like," 
declared  the  agent.  "This  place  was  laid  out  for  a  home, 
but  disappointment — not  misfortune — robbed  its  owner 
of  the  privilege  of  enjoying  it.  The  gardens  are  the  best 
to  be  found  in  California.  The  orchards  and  vineyards 
contain  the  finest  qualities  of  fruits.  But  one  improve- 
ment could  be  made,  although  for  you  it  would  at  pres- 
ent be  unnecessary,  and  that  is  a  larger  house." 

"I  would  not  have  it  larger,"  declared  Edith.  "It 
is  plenty  large—  just  right  as  it  is." 

"Well,  Kid,  if  it  suits,  you  may  consider  it  yours," 
said  Tom.  "Here  we  will  make  our  future  home." 

"O  Tom!  Are  you  quite  sure  that  we  can  afford  it? 
We  have  spent  so  much  money  in  our  search — 

"It  's  all  right,  my  little  wife,"  said  Tom.  "This  is 
our  home  henceforth.  So  be  at  ease  about  the  payment 
for  it;  that  is  already  provided  for." 

Within  a  few  days  Tom  and  Edith  were  comfortably 
settled  in  their  new  home. 

The  little  house  had  been  fully  furnished,  in  antici- 
pation of  its  future  mistress,  and  all  was  ready,  when  she 
should  come,  for  her  to  go  directly  to  housekeeping. 

Nothing  could  be   more  cheery  and   home-like  than 


MINUS    THE    SERPENT. 


289 


the  little  cottage,  with  its  gardens  teeming  with  a  profu- 
sion of  the  most  exquisite  flowers. 

"A  veritable  little  paradise!"  exclaimed  Edith,  as, 
radiant  with  the  happiness  which  filled  her  heart,  she 
came  and  sat  beside  Tom  in  a  large  rustic  chair,  on  the 

porch,  over  which 

the  honeysuckle 
and  rose,  loaded 
with  a  countless 
number  of  sweet- 
scented  flowers, 
trailed  their  long 
lengths,  forming  a 
bower  variegated 
with  green,  scarlet 
and  gold. 

"A  perfect  little 
Eden!  Don't  you 
think  so,  Tom?" 
asked  Edith. 


THE  COTTAGE. 


"All  but  the  ser- 
pent, Kid." 

"Tom,  this  is  the  fulfillment  of  my  girlish  dreams. 
I  have  dreamed  of  happiness  like  this;  I  have  dreamed 
of  a  beautiful  little  home;  and  I  have  dreamed  of  a  kind, 
noble,  true-hearted  man,  Tom,  like  you,  to  take  me  to 
his  heart  and  call  me  his  little  wife.  Further,  I  have 
dreamed  of  a  sweet  little  flower — like  our  own  precious 
Angel — who  came  to  bind  our  hearts  still  closer  in  love 
and  constancy.  I  have  dreamed  of  all  this,  Tom,  in  my 


290  CLIFFSIDE'S  FORMER  OWNER. 

girlhood  dreams.  And  now,  Tom,  my  dreams  are  real- 
ized and  I  am  so  happy!  Oh,  so  happy! 

"But,  Tom,  how  sad  must  be  the  one  who  planned 
all  these  beautifil  things,  and  worked  for  so  many  years 
to  make  such  a  lovely  home,  now  that  a  cruel  fate  has 
driven  him  away!  Perhaps  he  is  now  too  old  to  build 
and  thus  embellish  another  home,  and  views  with  envy 
the  happiness  of  the  more  fortunate  one  who  enjoys  the 
fruits  of  his  labor.  Do  you  know  the  poor  man,  Tom?" 

A  smile  of  triumph  played  on  Tom  Weston's  plain, 
honest  face  as  he  answered  the  question  asked  by  his 
tender-hearted  wife: 

"Yes,  Kid,  I  know  the  man.  I  know  him  very  well, 
indeed." 

"Tell  me  of  him,  Tom,  and  the  story  of  this  place; 
for  I  know  that  it  must  have  a  romance  attached  to  it." 

"Really,  Kid,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  ought  to  do  so," 
said  Tom. 

"Please  do,  Tom — won't  you?" 

When  he  looked  down  into  those  wide,  pleading  eyes, 
so  full  of  love  and  pity,  he  answered: 

"My  little  girl,  it  was  I  who  built  this  home." 

"O  Tom!"  cried  Edith.  "You?  Tell  me,  Tom — 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

"Dare  I  to  do  this,  Edith?     Dare  I  tell  you  all?" 

"Nonsense,  Tom!  You  know  that  you  dare  to  tell 
me  all,  for  you  are  a  gentleman." 


'I  PLEADED.     I  PROMISED  TO  Ton.  FOR 
— 292 — 


TOM'S    RETROSPECT.  293 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 


TOM   WESTON    RECITES  TO   EDITH   THE    STORY  OF  HIS  FIRST 
LOVE    DREAM THE    POVERTY    TEST. 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  meditatively,  "I  came  here  ten 
years  ago  and  bought  this  place.  I  went  to  work,  with 
all  the  energy  and  ambition  of  a  very  ambitious  young 
man,  to  build  me  a  home  and  at  the  same  time  to  win 
me  a  wife.  Don't  look  at  me  that  way,  Kid,  or  I  will 
back  out  and  not  tell  my  story.  With  what  success  I 
built  my  home  you  can  judge  for  yourself.  But  the  sec- 
ond part  of  the  task — the  winning  of  a  wife — well,  I  will 
tell  you  about  her;  then  you  can  judge  of  that,  too.  Of 
course,  this  is  what  you  want  to  know. 

"I  was  pretty  well  off — rich,  perhaps,  you  may  call 
it — and  a  little  bit  romantic  as  well;  or,  at  any  rate,  I 
had  notions  of  my  own,  and  one  of  these  notions  was  to 
marry  for  love.  I  must  love  the  girl  who  was  to  be  my 
wife,  and  she  must  love  me.  I  managed  my  own  love 
affair  as  I  thought  it  would  best  suit  my  notion — that  is, 
as  I  believed  would  thoroughly  test  the  love  for  me  of 
my  betrothed  wife.  And  this  is  how  I  managed  it: 

"Remember,  we  were  engaged  to  be  married,  and  of 
course  the  wedding  was  to  be  a  grand  affair,  for  we  were 
both  wealthy.  That  was  three  years  ago. 

"I  arranged  my  affairs  so  as  to  make  it  appear  that 
a  great  financial  misfortune  had  befallen  me.  Maybe  it 
was  wrong  for  me  to  do  so,  but  I  do  not  always  stop  to 


294 


A    MERCENARY    BELLE. 


consider  whether  a  thing  is   right  or  wrong  before  I  act. 

I  wanted  to  know  whether  the   girl   loved  me  or  not — 

whether  she  would  marry  me  because  I  was  an  agreeable 

mate  or  simply  sought  my  fortune,  the  fine  home  and  the 

finery  which  my  money  would  buy  for  her.      And  that  is 

why  I   did  it.      All 

my    large   fortune, 

my    lands,     farms 

and  vineyards — all 

were  gone,    and   I 

was  left  penniless. 

I  found  myself  well 

nigh    friendless   as 

well.    And  this  was 

the  result: 

"I  went  out  to 
work  as  a  common 
laborer  to  earn  my 
daily  bread,  and 
then  I  sought,  for 
the  first  time  in  my 
poverty,  the  pres- 
ence of  my  affi- 
anced wife.  This  was  just  one  week  before  the  day  set 
for  our  wedding.  I  sent  her  my  card  and  waited  in  the 
magnificent  parlor  of  her  elegant  home  till  she  came. 
Beautiful  as  ever — yes,  she  is  called  a  beauty.  She  yet 
lives  just  over  there,"  and  he  pointed  out  her  residence. 
"You  will  see  her  before  long.  But  I  am  digressing. 


THE  GIRL  WHO  WAS  TO  BE  MY  WIFE." 


THE    TEST.  295 

''She  met  me,  and  I — poor  fool!— mistook  the  look 
of  pity  in  her  dark  eyes  for  the  love-light  of  former  days. 
But  alas  for  my  confidence,  never  too  great!  She  greeted 
me  as  though  I  were  a  stranger,  and  before  I  left  her  I 
was  a  stranger. 

"She  said:  'Yes — we  must  part;  it  is  better  so. 
Henceforth  we  are  strangers.' 

"I  pleaded;  I  promised  to  toil  for  her.  But  all  my 
pleading  was  in  vain.  With  a  cold  and  haughty  bow, 
she  turned  and  left  me — on  my  knees  and  in  tears. 

"I  was  young  then — only  twenty — and  possibly  I  did 
love  her  at  that  time;  but  I  could  not  love  her  now.  I 
thank  God  that  she  is  not  my  wife  instead  of  you,  Kid. 
Now  you  can  judge." 

"Oh,  you  are  safe  in  my  hands,  Tom.  You  know  I 
could  not  judge  you  any  thing  but  a  brave,  noble  boy." 

While  the  happy  little  wife  spoke,  a  shudder  of  dread 
passed  over  her,  as  though  the  shadow  of  some  horrible 
dream  enveloped  her,  while  her  wondering  eyes  looked 
up  into  his  with  that  expression  of  fright  which  he  had 
seen  there  many  times  before. 

"But,  Tom,  if  you  had  married  her,  what  would  have 
become  of  me?  Just  think  of  the  past  two  years — of  the 
time  when  you  first  met  me.  O  Tom!  What  would  have 
become  of  me?" 

"'Tis  said,  Edith,  God  cares  for  His  children." 

"And  I  believe  it,  Tom." 


296  BENIGN    PROVIDENCE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


A    LETTER    FROM    FAR-OFF    AUSTRALIA     BRINGS    THE    NEWS 
THAT    JIM    MADISON    IS    AT    LARGE. 

"Tom,  do  you  know  that  there  are  a  few  things  that 
have  happened  to  me  in  the  past  two  years  which  make 
me  believe  that  God,  in  some  way,  has  watched  over  me 
— has  heard  my  prayers  and  answered  them?  I  have  at 
times  thought  that  I  must  be  wicked;  that  God  had  for- 
saken me  and  left  me  to  the  mercy  of  my  enemies;  and 
I  have  thought  it  hard  and  cruel  that  I  should  be  com- 
pelled to  suffer  as  I  have  suffered.  But  when  I  come  to 
look  back  and  see  it  all  at  a  glance,  I  can  see  things  that 
I  had  forgotten — things  which  banish  all  doubt  from  my 
mind  and  heart  as  the  mist  is  dispelled  before  the  morn- 
ing sun.  Tom,  what  would  have  become  of  me  had  you 
married  Belle  Winslow?  Did  you  ever  think  of  it,  Tom? 
Just  look  back  from  the  present  to  that  evening  at  the 
Casino!  Ah,  you  will  say,  Tom,  that  it  was  all  mere 
chance — just  happened  so.  Perhaps  it  did,  Tom;  but  if 
so,  it  was  a  lucky  chance  for  me.  I  understand  now  the 
cause  of  your  aversion  to  girls,  but  it  was  unkind  of  you 
to  condemn  them  all  because  one  had  proven  false  to 
you.  There  are  many  brave  and  true-hearted  girls,  as 
well  as  brave  and  true-hearted  boys,  and  you  will  find 
them  every  where.  I  suppose  you  are  acquainted  with 
nearly  all  the  people  here,  Tom?" 

"Yes — all  the  old  settlers.      We  will   have  plenty  of 


"NOT  A  BIT  LIKE  HER  FATHER  " 
—297— 


AN    OLD    FLAME    VISITS    CLIFFSIDE.  2Q9 

company  here.  You  will  like  many  of  the  neighbors, 
but  some  you  will  not,"  said  Tom. 

"Not  many,  I  hope,"  said  Edith. 

"No — not  many.  I  can  name  one,  and  that  one  is 
Belle  Winslow." 

"Why,  Tom!     Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because  she  will  hate  you.  If  she  should  think  you 
to  be  of  a  jealous  disposition,  Kid,  she  would  try  hard  to 
make  you  jealous  of  me.  She  will  try,  anyway,"  said 
Tom,  vehemently. 

"But  she  can  't  do  it,  Tom!" 

"Of  course  not.  But  look,  Kid!  Some  one  is  com- 
ing. They  are  the  Winslows,  I  see." 

A  carriage  just  then  turned  down  the  winding,  oak- 
lined  avenue  which  skirted  the  orange  groves  and  vine- 
yards at  the  head  of  the  little  bay,  beyond  which  the  tall 
gables  of  the  Winslow  mansion  could  be  plainly  seen, 
and  drove  rapidly  along  the  gravel  road  toward  the  little 
cottage  known  as  Cliffside — a  name  suggested  by  the 
high  cliff  just  back  of  the  house. 

At  the  foot  of  this  grim,  old  cliff,  which  reared  its 
verdure-clad  head  hundreds  of  feet  skyward,  and  upon 
whose  inaccessible  and  perpendicular  face  grew  trailing 
vines,  nestled  the  little  cottage  home  like  the  cozy  nest 
of  mating  birds. 

Dashing  swiftly  up  to  the  flowery  arch  of  the  gateway 
leading  to  the  front  porch,  the  carriage  stopped  and  a 
slight,  girlish  figure  dressed  in  silks  and  decked  with  rich 
jewels  alighted  and  stepped  daintily  toward  the  vine- 
covered  porch  where  Tom  and  Edith  were  sitting,  and 


3oo  BELLE'S  COVERT  INSINUATION. 

where  little  Angie,  lying  in  her  mother's  lap,  was  receiv- 
ing the  homage  usually  accorded  the  first-born. 

Tom  arose  and  with  a  pleasant  smile  and  bow  of 
greeting  introduced  the  young  lady  to  his  wife. 

Pleasant  and  cheerful  indeed  was  the  greeting  which 
Edith  gave  her.  The  two  girls  chatted  away  together  as 
only  two  girls  know  how  to  chat  for  ten  minutes  or  more. 

"Oh,  what  a  sweet  little  baby!"  exclaimed  Belle,  in 
raptures.  "What  is  her  name  and  how  old  is  she?" 

"We  call  her  Angie,  and  she  is  twelve  weeks  old," 
answered  Edith. 

"She  looks  like  you,  Mrs.  Weston — not  a  bit  like- 
like  her  father,"  declared  Belle. 

"/think  she  looks  like  Tom,"  said  Edith,  resolutely. 

"Not  the  least  bit  in  the  world!"  imperiously  insisted 
Belle.  And  from  that  moment  Belle  Winslow  and  Edith 
Weston  were,  though  secretly,  bitter  enemies. 

"His  child!"  muttered  Belle  as  she  was  driven  home. 
"His  child!  A  girl  who  will  dress  up  in  men's  clothes 
and  go  to  saloons  and  gambling  houses,  and  perhaps — 
yes,  more  than  likely— -to  some  other  places,  too,  and  at 
night!  Ah,  well!  Maybe  she  is,  but  I  doubt  it.  We 
shall  see,  Master  Tom!" 

"I  don't  like  her!"  exclaimed  Edith  with  emphasis, 
as  the  girl  swept  down  the  gravel  walk,  her  silken  train 
rustling  in  the  soft  breeze  as  she  entered  her  elegant  car- 
riage and  was  driven  away. 

"I  knew  that  you  would  n't!"  declared  Tom,  with  a 
laugh. 

"Tom!"  exclaimed  Edith,   in  a  tone  of  reproach,  as 


MISCHIEF    SCENTED.  3OI 

she  raised  her  lustrous  blue  eyes  to  his,  with  a  look  that 
expressed  a  complexity  of  emotions. 

"But  I  did,  Kid,  and  I  told  you  so.  You  two  girls 
can  never  be  friends,  and  the  less  you  have  to  do  with 
each  other  the  better  will  it  be  for  you,  Kid.  Of  course, 
you  will  treat  her  well,  and  never  show  her  your  dislike." 

"But  I  don't  like  her!"  insisted  Edith.  "She  means 
some  thing  by  what  she  said  about  little  Angie.  She 
means  mischief.  I  know  that  from  the  look  in  her  black 
eyes.  What  did  she  mean  by  saying  that  Angie  don't 
look  a  bit  like  you,  when  I  know  that  she  does?" 

"It  is  a  very  small  thing  to  quarrel  over,  anyway," 
said  Tom,  patting  the  round,  dimpled  cheeks  of  little 
Angie- — "a  very  small  thing." 

"It  is  not  what  she  said,  but  the  way  she  said  it.  I 
tell  you,  Tom,  that  girl  means  mischief." 

"What  can  she  do?  What  do  you  think  she  is  up  to, 
Kid?" 

"I  am  not  sure,  Tom,  but  I  will  tell  you  just  what  I 
think  about  it." 

In  a  low  tone,  quivering  with  emotion,  her  dark  eyes 
flashing,  she  told  Tom  her  fears. 

"Nonsense,  Kid!  Let  her  talk,  if  she  wants  to  talk; 
she  can  do  you  no  harm.  I  hope  she  will  not  prove  so 
unlady-like  and  shameless.  But,  of  course,  as  she  is  a 
woman,  we  will  have  to  let  her  talk  if  she  will." 

"I  don't  know  why,  Tom,  but  I  am  afraid  of  her." 

"Afraid?  And  is  this  my  little  heroine?  Is  this  the 
girl  who  has  braved  the  dangers  of  sea  and  storm  and 
defied  and  routed  her  enemies?  Afraid  of  that  girl?" 


302 


STROLLING  ON  THE  STRAND. 


"ftever  mind,  Tom.  I  see  that  you  do  not  under- 
stand me  -  or,  rather,  will  not  admit  that  you  do.  Come; 
let  us  go  down  to  the  shore.  The  tide  is  out  now.  Let 
us  £0  and  see  what  we  can  find." 

Down  they  went   along  the   sloping  sands  until  they 

came  up  to  the  boat 
house,  built  in  a  little 
cove  whose  waters 
laved  the  foot  of  the 
cliff,  and  then  along 
under  the  great  cliff 
wall,  where,  at  low 
water,  a  narrow  ledge 
ran  along  beneath  the 
overhanging  rocks, 
leading  into  a  little 
grotto,  water- worn 
and  studded  with  sta- 
lactites that  were  tint- 
ed with  all  the  colors 
of  the  rainbow. 

"Oh,  what  a  beau- 
tiful place!"  exclaimed 
Edith.     "A  lovers'  re- 
treat— the  home  of  sea  nymphs  and  fairies!    Our  mortal 
life  must  be  commonplace  beside  theirs!" 

Thus  from  one  fairy  scene  to  another  Tom  Weston 
led  his  delighted  wife  as  the  happy  days  passed  by. 

Then    came    the    Autumn    season,  with  its  bountiful 
treasures  of  luscious  fruits  and  golden  grain,   bringing 


THE  GROTTO 


NEWS    OF    MADISON.  303 

wealth  and  comfort  to  many  happy  homes.  Bountiful 
indeed  had  the  harvest  been,  and  the  tillers  of  the  soil 
reaped  rich  reward  for  their  toil  during  the  Summer. 

In  these  returns  of  Mother  Earth — these  responses 
to  the  skill  and  industry  of  the  husbandmen — Tom  and 
Edith  had  received  their  full  share,  and  their  happiness 
seemed  limited  only  by  their  capacity  to  enjoy. 

Occasionally  a  letter  came  from  the  far-off  land  of 
Australia,  telling  of  the  progress  of  Jim  Madison  toward 
recovery.  .  But  now  a  letter  came  which  brought  most 
unwelcome  news  concerning  him. 

The  letter  stated  that  Jim  Madison  had  made  his 
escape  from  the  insane  asylum,  and  had,  up  to  the  time 
the  letter  was  written,  succeeded  in  eluding  the  police. 
No  trace  of  him  could  be  found,  but  it  was  believed  that 
he  had  gone  to  America. 


304  REWARD    OFFERED. 


CHAPTER   XL. 


THE    UNHAPPY     LOT    OF    THE     HEAD    WHICH     HAS    A    PRICE 
SET     UPON     IT. 

"Escaped!  Jim  Madison  escaped  from  the  asylum!" 
exclaimed  Edith,  nervously,  and  a  shudder  passed  over 
her  as  she  thought  of  what  he  might  possibly  attempt  to 
do.  Half  crazy  as  he  was,  he  would  be  far  more  wily 
and  dangerous  than  he  was  before. 

"Tom,  there  is  no  telling  what  his  insane  fancy  may 
prompt  him  to  do." 

"It  matters  not,  Edith,  whether  he  may  attempt  to 
do  any  thing.  He  must  be  hunted  down  and  punished 
for  the  wrong  he  has  already  done.  I  will  advertise  for 
him  and  offer  a  reward." 

This  was  done  without  loss  of  time.  Thus,  once 
more,  a  price  was  set  upon  the  guilty  man's  head. 

Go  where  he  would,  some  one  would  be  looking  for 
him,  some  one  would  be  waiting  and  watching  to  receive 
him.  Neither  peace  nor  security  could  he  find,  and  his 
guilty  conscience  would  continually  harass  him.  He 
would  see  an  enemy  in  every  passing  face. 

"Oh,  what  a  wretched  life  such  an  existence  must 
be!"  sighed  Edith.  '  'To  think  that  all  the  world  is  against 
him;  that  every  one  looks  upon  him  as  an  enemy  to  be 
shunned,  to  be  got  rid  of;  an  object  in  whose  very  mis- 
fortune, captivity  and  punishment  other  people  will  find 
relished  profit!" 


•SKIMMING  LIKE  A  WHITE-WINGED  BIRD. 
—305— 


GRANNY   JONES'    GOSSIP.  3O/ 

Edith's  revery  was  interrupted  by  the  approach  of  a 
welcome  visitor. 

"Ah!  Here  comes  some  one.  I  wonder  who  can  she 
be?  Oh,  I  believe  she  is  that  dear  old  Granny  Jones. 
She  was  here  yesterday,  Tom,  and  was  telling  me  what 
Belle  Winslow  has  been  saying.  I  told  you  that  Belle 
would  tell  it.  I  knew  by  the  way  she  looked  that  she 
was  up  to  some  thing.  She  is  telling  it  all  over  the 
neighborhood.  She  says  that  we  are  not  married  at  all. 
And  do  you  know,  Tom,  I  lost  our  marriage  certificate? 
We  have  nothing  to  show  that  we  are  married,  and  she 
seems  to  know  that." 

"We  have  got  this  little  fellow,"  said  Tom,  proudly, 
as  he  held  up  little  Angie.  "See,  Kid!  What  more  do 
you  want?" 

"It  is  n't  I,  Tom;  but,  you  know,  Belle  says  that 
Angie  does  n't  belong  to  you." 

"Great  God!  Edith,  has  that  devil-cat  been  saying 
such  a  things"  cried  Tom,  white  with  passion. 

"Did  n't  I  tell  you,  Tom,  that  she  would  tell  it?  Yes 
— she  has  told  it,  and  she  says,  too,  that  she  can  prove 
it.  Do  you  know  how  she  proposes  to  do  this?  I  will 
tell  you." 

In  a  low  voice — her  cheeks  blushing  crimson  and  her 
eyes  flashing — she  repeated  to  her  angered  husband  the 
story  told  openly  by  Belle  Winslow. 

Weston  was  now  wild  with  just  indignation. 

"D — n  her  shameless  heart!  By  thunder,  if  she  were 
only  a  man!  Kid,  why  don't  you  jump  onto  her  and  give 
her  a  trouncing?  You  can  lick  a  dozen  of  - 


308 


SWEET    ANGIE. 


"For  shame,  Tom!  But  here  comes  Granny  Jones. 
O  Granny!" 

The  girlish  little  woman  ran  to  the  old  lady,  grasped 
her  wrinkled  hand,  kissed  her  pale  cheek  and  bade  her  a 
welcome  there  was  no  mistaking. 

"O  Granny,  I  am  so  glad  you  came  over!" 

"Ah,"  said  the  old  lady,  gazing  down  into  those  blue 
eyes  which  greeted 
her  with  such  wel- 
come. '-You  are 
looking  happy  to- 
day, my  child,  and 
right  glad  I  am  to 
see  you  looking  so 
well.  Oh,  and 


GRANNY  JONES. 


here  is  little  Angie 
— the  sweet  little 
fairy!" 

Granny  Jones 
picked  up  the  pre- 
cious little  morsel 
from  her  baby- 
couch  and  crooned 
to  her  as  fondly  and  lovingly  as  though  the  babe  were 
her  daughter's  child. 

"Sit  down,  Grandma,"  said  Tom,  as  he  placed  the 
great  arm  chair  before  her.  "You  are  well,  I  see,  and 
the  rest  of  the  folk — how  are  they?"  he  asked,  cheerily. 

"All  are  well,  thank  you — quite  well." 

"And  so   they  say,    Grandma,    that   the  people  over 


PEACEFUL   CLIFFSIDE.  309 

there  [Tom  pointed  toward  the  Winslow  mansion]  are 
trying  to  convince  our  neighbors  that  little  Angie  does  n't 
belong  to  us — or  to  me,  at  least.  I  wonder  if  they  will 
not  try  to  make  out  that  she  does  n't  belong  to  Edith, 
either?" 

"No — no!"  replied  the  old  lady.  "That  would  not 
suit  their  purpose  at  all.  Their  sole  aim  is  to  injure 
Edith.  Belle  Winslow  will  never  forgive  you,  Mr.  Wes- 
ton,  for  giving  Cliffside  to  another." 

"Nor  do  I  want  her  to  forgive  me,"  declared  Tom, 
emphatically.  "I  thank  God  that  she  is  not  the  mistress 
of  my  home!" 

From  this  the  conversation  changed  off  to  more  con- 
genial topics.  Granny  Jones  was  high-minded  and  sym- 
pathetic, and  her  fondness  for  Edith  and  Angie  made  her 
an  ever  welcome  visitor. 

Thus  the  happy  days  passed  till  the  Winter  months 
— scarcely  distinguishable  from  those  of  Summer — had 
come  and  gone,  and  the  return  of  Spring  again  clothed 
the  hills  and  vales  with  luxurious  verdure  and  radiant 
flowers. 

Life  at  Cliffside  was  peaceful  and  happy.  Edith  and 
little  Angie  were  known  and  loved  by  every  one — every 
one,  save  only  Belle  Winslow  and  a  few  of  her  admirers. 
These  must  be  excepted,  for  in  the  heart  of  Belle  Wins- 
low  still  rankled  that  bitter  feeling  of  jealous  hatred  that 
she  bore  little  Edith  for  having,  as  she  claimed,  robbed 
her  of  Cliffside. 

"Oh,  it's  her  beautiful  face  and  fascinating  eyes!" 
declared  Belle,  resentfully. 


3IO  PLANNING    THE    PICNIC. 

In  spite  of  Belle's  evil  and  scandalous  tongue,  Edith 
was  very  happy  in  the  love  and  care  of  her  little  home 
and  family' — a  fact  which  was  still  more  exasperating  and 
intolerable  to  Belle,  for  she  counted  upon  making  Edith 
miserable. 

With  the  balmy  days  of  Spring  began  picnics  and 
excursions.  A  grand  picnic  to  the  Santa  Barbara  Islands 
was  planned  for  the  first  of  May,  which  was  to  be  a  three 
days'  romp  over  the  islands. 

"Oh,  won't  it  be  jolly  fun!"  exclaimed  Edith,  in  her 
gleeful  anticipations. 

"It  is  May  Day,  you  know,"  joined  a  half-dozen  girls 
in  chorus,  "and  you  must  be  our  May  Queen,  Edith." 

"No,"  remonstrated  Edith.  ' -Choose  Belle.  You 
want  a  girl;  choose  her." 

"She  is  older  than  you  are,  Edith.  You  are  more  of 
a  girl  than  she  is,"  persisted  the  girls.  "You  are  as  like 
a  girl  as  any  of  us,  and  we  want  you.  You  are  the  very 
prettiest  — 

"There — there,  girls!  That  will  do,  now,"  inter- 
rupted Tom,  who  appeared  unexpectedly  upon  the  scene. 
"You  can  not  have  my  girl.  No  remonstrance,  if  you 
please.  Belle  Winslovv  must  be  your  May  Queen.  It  is 
her  right,  you  know.  She  always  has  been,  and  certainly 
expects  to  be  again." 

"You  hear  that,  girls?"  said  Edith,  taking  sides  with 
Tom.  "When  this  chap  says  'No' — why,  'No'  it  is. 

"Come,  now,  girls.  Settle  upon  Belle;  crown  her 
Queen  of  May.  It  will  save  some  jealous  feelings,  and 
that  is  worth  a  little  sacrifice,  especially  on  such  an  oc- 


OFF    TO   SANTA    BARBARA    ISLANDS.  311 

casion  as  this  is  to  be.  We  want  every  one  to  be  happy 
and  enjoy  the  outing  to  the  utmost.  If  you  were  to 
slight  Belle  in  this  respect,  she  would  be  miserable,  and 
she  would  then  try  to  make  others  miserable,  too." 

"Oh,  well!  If  it  is  going  to  spoil  anyone's  pleasure, 
we  won't  do  it,"  said  the  girls. 

So  it  was  decided.  And  when  the  appointed  day 
came — the  first  day  of  May — all  the  young  people  and 
many  of  the  older  ones,  light  hearted  and  gay,  assem- 
bled on  the  village  wharf,  ready  for  the  start. 

"Cliffside,"  a  pretty  little  pleasure  yacht  belonging 
to  Tom  and  Edith,  loaded  with  its  freight  of  laughing 
girls  and  boys,  took  the  lead,  and  was  soon  skimming 
over  the  waters  like  a  white-winged  bird. 

Happy  and  gay,  with  songs  and  merry  jests,  the  sail 
to  the  picnic  grounds  was  enjoyed  by  all. 


312  THE    PICNIC. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


A  MAY-DAY  EXCURSION  LEAVES    CLIFFSIDE    AND  IS  ATTEND- 
ED BY  A  CERTAIN  PERUVIAN  GENTLEMAN. 

Reaching  the  islands  after  a  short  and  pleasant  sail, 
the  happy  picnickers  landed  upon  the  rocky  shore  and 
immediately  began  preparations  for  a  good  time. 

Dinner  was  the  first  thing  on  the  program,  and  ere 
long  little  groups  of  rollicking  boys  and  bright-eyed  girls 
were  gathered  about  here  and  there,  making  merry  over 
their  bountiful  repast. 

"Oh,  this  is  just  lovely!"  exclaimed  Edith — her 
cheeks  flushed  with  pleasure,  her  dnrk  eyes  sparkling 
with  the  happiness  that  filled  her  heart.  "Oh,  this  is 
just  lovely!  A  little  like  camping  out,  is  n't  it,  Tom?" 

"Just  a  little, "  replied  Tom.  "But,  say,  Kid,  who 
is  that  long-bearded,  foreign-looking  gentleman  over 
there  with  the  Winslows?  He  is  a  stranger,  and,  judg- 
ing from  his  attentions  to  Belle,  he  is  badly  gone  on  her. " 

"Handsome,  is  n't  he?"  asked  Edith,  obeying  the 
woman's  instinct  of  her  heart  by  noticing,  first  of  all,  his 
good  looks.  "Senor  Don  Somebody,  I  expect." 

"[  wonder  if  they  won't  introduce  him  to  us?  I  saw 
him  looking  over  here  a  little  while  ago,  and  he  seemed 
to  be  asking  about  us,"  said  Tom. 

"Tom,  I  have  seen  that  man  before!" 

The  flush  upon  Edith's  fair  cheek  gave  way  to  death- 
like pallor. 

"What  is  the  matter?     What  do  you  mean,  Edith?" 


A  REMARKABLE  RESEMBLANCE.  315 

asked  Tom,  who  was  becoming  excited  over  the  sudden 
change  in  his  wife's  countenance. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Tom.  But  don't  you  think  he 
looks  a  little  like  Jim  Madison?" 

"I  can't  see  any  particular  resemblance,  Kid — no 
more  than  many  others  bear  him.  He  is  father  small 
and  slim — just  about  Jim's  size — black  eyes,  too;  that  's 
about  all." 

"Perhaps  that  is  all." 

Edith  then  busied  herself  with  feeding  a  variety  of 
dainties  to  little  Angie,  but  she  cast  an  occasional  furtive 
glance  toward  the  dark-bearded  stranger. 

"Don't  say  any  thing,  Kid,  nor  appear  to  notice  him. 
We  will  wait  and  see,"  said  Tom. 

Dinner  being  over,  the  pleasant  afternoon  was  spent 
in  dancing,  swinging  and  frolicking  about  the  grounds. 
Every  oue  there  seemed  to  be  happy.  Not  a  drawback 
of  any  kind  occurred  to  mar  the  day's  pleasure. 

With  song  and  dance  and  merry  frolics  the  evening 
also  passed,  and  the  pleasure  seekers  were  compelled  to 
relinquish  their  sports  for  that  day  and  take  to  the  tents 
for  the  night. 

As  many  as  could  be  provided  for  went  with  Tom  and 
Edith  and  spent  the  night  on  board  their  yacht.  It  was 
then  that  a  few  carelessly  asked  questions  revealed  the 
fact  that  the  dark-bearded  stranger  was  the  affianced 
husband  of  Belle  Winslow. 

"But  he  must  be  nearly  a  stranger,  is  n't  he?"  asked 
Tom. 

"She  met  him  in  San  Francisco  last  Autumn,"  said 


THE    VEIL    TOO   GAUZY. 


Mary  Jones,  the  daughter  of  good  old  Granny  Jones. 
"Belle  visited  there  with  her  aunt  last  Winter,  you 
know.  He  is  a  Peruvian  gentleman  and  very  wealthy — 
so  they  say." 

"Ah!     A  Peruvian  gentleman,   is   he?"   mused  Tom. 

"What  do  you  think  about  Belle's  beau,  Kid?"  asked 
Tom,  when  they  were  alone  and  ready  to  retire  for  the 
night.     "Do  you  think 
he  is  a  wealthy  Peru- 
vian gentleman?" 

"I  think  he  is  Jim 
Madison  in  disguise," 
answered  Edith.  "Do 
you  think  so?" 

"No,  Kid.  But 
we  will  watch  him.  If 
he  is  Jim  he  will  soon 
betray  his  identity." 

"Why  is  it,  Tom, 
that  you  do  not  be- 
lieve he  is  really  Jim?" 

"I  can  not  believe 
that  he  would  dare  to  come  here.  He  is  too  big  a  cow- 
ard to  run  such  a  risk  as  he  would  run  by  coming  here," 
explained  Tom. 

"Is  that  your  only  reason,  Tom?" 

"Yes." 

"But  if  he  is  partially  insane?" 

"Well,   that   would  make   all   the   difference  in   the 
world.    He  would  be  a  thousand  times  more  cunning  and 


THE  LONG-BEARDED  FOREIGNER. 


THE    OUTING    OVER.  317 

dangerous  under  such  circumstances  than  he  would  other- 
wise be.  But  really,  Kid,  I  can  hardly  think  the  chap  is 
Jim  Madison." 

"Perhaps  not." 

But  Edith's  suspicions  and  fears  were  in  no  wise  al- 
layed by  her  husband's  disbelief  that  her  father's  mur- 
derer and  the  bewhiskered  Peruvian  gentleman  were  one 
and  the  same. 

"Well,  we  will  neither  worry  nor  lose  sleep  over  it, 
Kid."  Nor  did  they. 

The  second  day  of  the  outing  was  pleasant,  and  the 
entire  party  seemed  anxious  to  get  the  largest  possible 
measure  of  enjoyment.  So  pleasant  and  agreeable  was 
every  one  that  the  day  passed  almost  before  they  were 
aware  of  it,  and  it  was  with  much  regret  that  the  merry 
sports  must  be  interrupted  for  another  night's  rest. 

By  early  dawn,  on  the  third  and  last  day,  the  picnick- 
ers were  up  and  preparing  for  the  return  trip,  which, 
like  all  the  other  features  of  the  excursion,  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  the  participants. 

"After  all,  it  is  good  to  be  at  home  again.  Oh,  how 
I  love  my  little  home!  Tom,  I  feel  that  I  am  getting  to 
be  quite  a  woman  now.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Why,  yes.  I  guess  that  you  will  pass  for  a  woman, 
Kid,"  said  Tom.  "But  why  do  you  think  so?" 

"Oh,  just  because  I  do  not  care  much,  anymore,  for 
any  thing  except  my  home  and  family.  'My  home  and 
family' — don't  that  sound  big,  now?  Just  think  of  it! 
How  different  from  a  few  years  back!  A  poor,  homeless 
and  friendless  girl  then;  now  a  wife  and  mother!  And, 
oh,  so  happy!" 


3l8  TOO    EXQUISITE    TO    LAST. 

Poor  Edith!  Little  did  she  dream,  in  her  transport 
of  happiness,  that  ere  many  days  the  greatest  trouble  of 
her  life  would  come  upon  her. 

A  few  days  after  the  excursion,  Tom  Weston,  having 
satisfied  himself  that  the  Peruvian  gentleman  was  an 
assumed  character,  and  having  increased  suspicion  as  to 
the  identity  of  the  man,  set  out  for  San  Francisco.  His 
purpose  was  to  make  a  thorough  investigation  of  the  rich 
and  suave  Peruvian  gentleman,  who  had  preceded  him 
by  a  few  days  to  the  Sunset  City.  Should  he  succeed  in 
identifying  him  as  Jim  Madison,  his  arrest  would  speed- 
ily follow. 

"About  his  trip  to  San  Francisco  there  is  nothing 
strange  or  suspicious,"  said  Tom.  "But  I  might  as  well 
follow  him  and  settle  the  question." 

So,  kissing  his  wife  and  baby  good-by,  he  left  them 
in  the  care  of  the  old  house  keeper,  and  set  out  for  the 
city. 


"I  MUST  CALL  AT  GRANNY  JONES'  AND  SEE  How  SHE  Is." 
-320— 


JIM'S    THIRST    FOR    REVENGE.  321 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


JIM    MADISON    AND    A    PAL     OVERPOWER     EDITH     AND    TAKE 
LITTLE    ANGIE    FROM    HER. 

It  will  be  remembered  that,  when  Jim  Madison  made 
his  escape  from  the  asylum,  as  was  reported  by  the  au- 
thorities, he  had  not  fully  recovered  from  his  insanity. 

Now,  it  appears  that  in  his  semi-insane  condition,  his 
sole  ambition,  his  very  soul  itself,  seemed  wrapped  up  in 
the  one  thought,  the  one  purpose,  the  one  consuming 
desire — revenge  upon  Tom  Weston  for  the  terrible  pun- 
ishment that  he  had  received  at  that  gentleman's  hands. 

A  mad  desire  had  seized  upon  his  half-crazed  mind, 
long  before  he  made  his  escape  from  the  asylum,  to  seek 
out  the  home  of  Tom  and  Edith  Weston  and  wreak  a 
terrible  revenge  upon  them. 

It  was  with  this  object  in  view  that  he  had  gone  to 
San  Francisco,  and  it  was  while  there  that  he  had  met 
and  become  acquainted  with  the  charming  Belle  Wins- 
low,  who  was  spending  the  Winter  months  with  her  aunt. 

Belle  was  quite  a  charming  girl  and  had  many  ardent 
admirers,  but  among  them  all  none  so  much  charmed 
and  pleased  her  as  did  the  dashing,  dark-eyed,  handsome 
Peruvian  gentleman.  Being  both  rich  and  handsome,  he 
was  considered  by  many  young  ladies,  and  especially  by 
Belle,  as  a  very  desirable  "catch."  He  had  permitted 
the  impression  to  get  abroad  that  the  object  of  his  visit 
to  the  Great  Republic  of  the  North  was  to  win  for  him- 
self an  American  wife. 


322  A    PLIANT   TOOL. 


It  happened  that,  after  his  fiery,  impetuous  fashion — 
a  style  that  just  suited  Belle,  as  she  was  of  a  rather  wild 
and  impetuous  nature  herself — he  paid  court  to  the  dam- 
sel and  won  her  heart.  He  had  most  ardently  pressed 
his  suit,  and,  when  accepted,  urged  an  immediate  union. 
But  here  the  aunt  interfered,  and,  fearing  an  elopement, 
had  sent  the  young  lady  home  to  her  parents,  where  she 
arrived  a  few  days  before  the  May  Day  picnic. 

But  previous  to  Belle's  return  home,  Jim  Madison- 
alias  Don  Alvarez,  the  wealthy  Peruvian — had  learned 
all  about  Tom  and  Edith  and  their  surroundings  at  their 
new  home  at  Cliffsidc.  He  had  also  learned  of  Belle's 
bitter  enmity  toward  little  Edith  and  her  almost  insane 
desire  to  make  life  miserable  for  the  mistress  of  Cliffside. 

After  Belle's  return  home,  as  was  natural  he  should 
do,  her  betrothed  paid  her  a  visit,  arriving  the  day  before 
the  picnic.  And  it  was  at  the  picnic  dinner  that,  for  the 
first  time  since  his  escape  from  the  asylum  and  return  to 
America,  he  saw  Tom  and  Edith. 

"Ah,  Belle,  my  love,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  "who  is 
that  beautiful  girl  over  there?" 

"She  is  Mrs.  Weston." 

"And  so,  she  is  the  charming  Edith  Weston?  And 
is  that  little  cherub  their  child?" 

"Yes — that  is,  it  is  hers,  at  any  rate!" 

Poor,  deluded  Belle!  Her  Peruvian  gentleman  was 
silent,  but  these  were  his  thoughts: 

"Yes,  and  it  is  his,  too!  I  know  all  about  that.  A 
curse  on  you,  Tom  Weston!  Curse  you,  Edith  Beaty! 
I  hate  you  now  as  much  as — aye,  a  thousand  times  more 


BOILING    VENOM.  323 


than- — I  loved  you  before!  I  have  a  plan,  and  I  will  exe- 
cute it.  Yes — I  will  do  it,  though  it  cost  me  my  life!" 

After  his  return  from  the  picnic,  when  he  was  once 
more  alone,  Jirn  Madison  muttered  to  himself: 

"I  will  send  for  Bill,  the  Kidnaper.  He  is  an  old 
friend  of  mine.  He  helped  me  out  once,  and  he  will 
again.  He  is  an  old  hand  at  this  business,  and  I  must 
have  help.  Once  I  get  that  kid  in  my  possession,  I  will 
bring  them  to  terms.  I  will  wring  her  heart!  Oh,  but 
I  will  torture  you,  my  little  beauty!  I  will  torture  you 
until  the  suffering  you  endured  before  shall  seem  but  a 
sweet  dream,  compared  with  the  bitter  torment  which  I 
will  make  you  feel!" 

Once  the  plan  was  decided  upon,  he  immediately  sent 
for  his  friend,  the  professional  kidnaper,  who  arrived  the 
following  day.  Soon  all  their  plans  were  perfected,  and 
they  waited  only  for  a  favorable  opportunity — an  oppor- 
tunity which  came  all  too  soon.  Tom's  trip  to  San  Fran- 
cisco left  the  coast  clear  for  the  villainous  work. 

According  to  their  previously  arranged  plans,  the 
Peruvian  gentleman  gave  notice  that  he  would  return  to 
San  Francisco.  This  was  the  day  previous  to  Tom's  de- 
parture, and  was  done  to  induce  him  to  leave,  and  also 
to  divert  suspicion  from  Jirn.  But  instead  of  returning 
to  the  city,  as  was  announced  that  he  would,  he  con- 
cealed himself  in  the  neighborhood.  He  was  provided 
with  food  and  kept  posted  about  the  movements  of  Tom 
Weston  by  Belle  Winslow,  who  in  her  jealous  heart, 
longing  for  revenge  upon  her  innocent  and  fortunate 
rival,  as  she  secretly  termed  Edith,  allowed  herself  to  be 


324 


TREACHERY. 


used  in  aiding  the  villain,  even  to  the  extent  of  becoming 
an  active  accessor}7. 

Tom  departed  for  the  city,  as  the  plotters  expected 
he  would — showing  beyond  all  question  of  doubt  that  he 
had  suspected  the 
identity  of  the  bo- 
g  u  s  Peruvian. 
Edith  and  Angie 
were  at  home  un- 
protected, and 
the  field  was  clear 
for  the  [fiends  to 
accomplish  their 
work.  So,  now, 
the  part  which 
Belle  was  to  play 
must  be  enacted. 

Along  toward 
evening,  rather 
late,  Belle  paid 
Edith  a  visit- 
came  to  spend  the 
evening  with  her. 

Edith  thought  nothing  strange  of  this,  for  Belle  often 
came  to  see  her,  in  spite  of  the  jealous  bitterness  which 
she  entertained  for  her. 

"Well,"  said  Belle,  ready  to  return  home  after  an 
extended  and  pleasant  chat  with  Edith,  "I  must  call  on 
Granny  Jones  and  see  how  she  is  feeling  this  evening. 
She  was  quite  sick  today,  so  I  heard." 


'ToM  DEPARTED  FOR  THE  CITY." 


ANGIE    TAKEN    AWAY.  325 

"Granny  Jones  sick?"  cried  Edith,  anxiously.  "Why, 
I  did  not  know  it!  Wait  a  moment,  Belle,  and  I  will  go 
over  with  you." 

Edith  aroused  little  Angie  from  her  angel  dreams, 
put  on  her  hood  and  cloak,  and  started  out  with  her 
treacherous  companion,  thinking  only  of  her  dear  old 
neighbor,  Granny  Jones. 

"Let  me  carry  Angie  till  you  are  rested,"  said  Belle, 
as  they  came  to  a  dark  part  of  the  road  at  the  head  of 
the  bay,  where  the  great  olive  trees  cast  their  shadows 
across  the  path. 

"I  thank  you,  Belle.      It  is  very  kind  of  you." 

Little  Angie  was  placed  in  Belle's  outstretched  arms. 

Almost  at  the  same  instant  two  men  rushed  from  the 
darkness  and  wrested  the  babe  from  Belle's  arms. 

Wild  with  terror,  the  young  mother  grappled  with 
the  kidnapers,  and  for  a  moment  it  required  all  the  brutal 
strength  of  the  fiendish  Bill  to  prevent  her  from  regain- 
ing possession  of  the  child.  But  a  heavy  blow  on  the 
temple  from  the  butt  of  a  revolver  felled  the  brave  little 
mother  to  the  ground — bruised  and  bleeding. 


326  CLIFFSIDE    AROUSED. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


BELLE  WINSLOW  ELOPES  WITH  THE  PERUVIAN  GENTLEMAN 
— RANSOM  FOR  ANGIE. 

For  a  moment  Belle  Winslow  stood  horrified  at  the 
awful  work  which  she  had  helped  to  do.  What  if  Edith 
were  dead  and  the  part  that  she  had  played  were  known? 
In  terror  she  turned  from  the  unconscious  girl,  who  lay 
stunned  and  bleeding  on  the  ground,  and  fled. 

Reaching  home,  Belle  gave  the  alarm,  though  con- 
cealing the  identity  of  the  principals.  Immediately  men 
set  out  for  the  scene  of  the  crime.  Here  they  found 
Edith,  just  recovering  consciousness. 

Heedless  of  her  own  hurts — heedless  of  her  torn  and 
blood-stained  clothes — the  frantic  mother,  wild  with  ter- 
ror, darted  away  toward  home. 

On  reaching  home,  she  aroused  the  servants  and  sent 
them  to  the  village  to  give  the  alarm  and  start  the  neigh- 
bors in  pursuit,  while  she,  running  quickly  to  the  stable, 
mounted  her  riding  pony,  without  saddle  or  bridle,  and 
dashed  swiftly  away  toward  the  nearest  telegraph  station 
— some  five  miles  away. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  the  operator  was  dumb  with 
amazement  and  for  a  few  minutes  unable  to  comply  with 
the  frantic  mother's  request  for  him  to  send  a  message  at 
once  to  Tom  Weston,  at  the  Golden  Gate  Hotel,  San 
Francisco. 

The  message  read: 

'Come  quick!     They  have  stolen  our  baby!  EDITH." 


O  GRANNY!"  MOANED  EDITH 


EDITH    JOINS    THE    CHASE. 


329 


Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  vanished  from 
the  astounded  man's  presence,  and  in  a  moment  was  fly- 
ing homeward. 

As  the  frantic  mother  dashed  up  to  her  cottage  home 
and  saw  the  old  gardener  there,  awaiting  her  return,  she 

cried  out  to  him: 
"John!  OJohn! 
Has     any      thing 
been  learned?" 

'  'Yes.  They  've 
gone  north." 

But  Edith  did 
not  wait  to  hear 
more.  Reining 
her  already  foam- 
ing horse,  she  put 
off  along  the  north 
road.  By  daylight 
she  had  overtaken 
the  men  who  were 
following  the  trail 
of  the  child  steal- 


NEAREST  TELEGRAPH  STATION." 


ers. 


Wild  and  well  nigh  breathless,  she  cried  out  to  them: 

"Have  you  learned  any  thing?" 

The  men  turned  away  their  faces,  for  they  could  not 
bear  the  sight  of  the  young  mother's  grief.  No  one  could 
answer.  No  one  could  offer  any  consolation.  Her  grief 
was  not  of  a  kind  to  allow  of  that,  so  they  all  rode  on  in 
silence — filled  with  sympathy  they  could  not  express. 


33°  ON    THE    TRAIL. 


Presently  they  came  to  a  railroad  station.  Here  they 
learned  that  two  men  with  a  small  child  had  taken  the 
midnight  train  for  San  Francisco. 

"Telegraph  the  police!"  cried  Edith.  She  gave  full 
description  of  little  Angie,  and  offered  $20,000  for  her 
recovery  and  the  arrest  of  the  kidnapers.  Ten  minutes 
later  she  was  on  board  a  train,  and  soon  reached  the  city. 

As  she  stepped  from  the  train,  a  man  touched  her  on 
the  arm  and  said: 

"Mrs.  Weston, 

"What?"  cried  the  girl,  so  quickly  and  with  such  a 
fierce  tone,  as  she  turned  her  flashing  eyes  upon  him, 
that  for  a  moment  the  man  was  staggered  and  quite  at  a 
loss  what  to  do  or  say. 

"Speak,  man!     What  is  it?" 

"We  have  just  received  a  telegram  from  Mr.  Weston, 
directing  us  to  watch  for  you  here  and  to  inform  you  that 
he  will  come  on  the  noon  train,"  said  the  man. 

"But  my  baby — what  of  her?  Has  any  thing  been 
learned  of  her?" 

"Yes,  Ma'am.  WTe  have  traced  them  to  a  house  near 
the  docks." 

"O  God!"  cried  the  distracted  mother.  "Take  me 
there.  Why  have  n't  you  arrested  them?  Why  have 
you  not  rescued  my  baby?  If  $20,000  is  not  reward 
enough,  name  your  price  and  deliver  my  child!  Speak, 
man!  Will  you  take  me  there?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Weston.      I  will  take  you  there." 

He  then  led  the  way  down  into  the  rogue  haunted 
district  of  the  great  city. 


4IN    A    DEAD    FAINT.  331 

A  detachment  of  police  had  been  sent  for,  and  they 
quickly  surrounded  the  suspected  bu'lding.  An  imme- 
diate raid  was  made,  and  Bill,  the  Kidnaper,  was  taken 
into  custody.  He,  of  course,  protested  his  innocence 
and  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  the  abduction.  Neither 
Jim  nor  the  babe  was  found  here. 

"What  shall  we  do  now?"  asked" the  man  who  had 
brought  Edith  there.  "We  will  have  a  scene.  I  do  hate 
to  tell  her. " 

"Tell  her  what?"  asked  Edith,  appearing  upon  the 
scene.  "What  is  it?  Where  are  they?  My  baby!  Oh, 
where  is  my  baby?" 

As  was  feared,  Edith  could  bear  up  no  longer,  but 
fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 

Just  as  the  men  were  preparing  to  convey  her  to  a 
hotel  and  call  a  physician,  Tom  Weston  came  suddenly 
upon  them. 

"Great  God!  What  's  this?  Speak,  man,  or  by  God, 
I  will  break  every  bone  in  your  body!" 

"Easy,  Tom!" 

"Oh,  is  it  you,  Mr.  Wilson?  What  is  the  meaning 
of  this?" 

As  he  asked  these  questions  the  loving  husband  gath- 
ered his  fainting  wife  in  his  arms  as  though  she  had  been 
a  little  child. 

"She  has  fainted,  Tom,"  said  Mr.  Wilson.  "The 
disappointment  at  finding  her  child  gone  was  too  much 
for  her." 

"How  came  she  wounded?" 

"I  don't  know,  Tom.     That  was  done  before  I  met 


332  EDITH    INCONSOLABLE. 

her.  Better  take  her  to  a  hotel  and  attend  to  her  first, 
and  then  I  will  come  down  and  see  what  we  can  do." 

Tom  carried  her  down  to  the  street  and  entered  the 
carriage  which  had  been  summoned.  In  a  few  minutes 
Edith  was  at  the  Golden  Gate  Hotel,  in  a  physician's 
care. 

Restoratives  soon  brought  the  poor  little  mother  back 
to  a  consciousness  of  her  terrible  loss.  Brave  though 
she  was,  this  blow  was  too  much  for  her  tender,  loving 
mother-heart,  and  she  gave  herself  up  to  inconsolable 
grief,  utterly  refusing  to  be  comforted. 

"Oh,  don't  talk  of  hope  and  courage!  My  dear  Tom, 
I  can  never  be  happy  again!" 

"But  I  will  find  her,  Kid,"  urged  Tom.  "I  will  not 
let  up  till  I  have  brought  that  fiend  to  account.  You 
shall  have  your  baby  again — so  help  me  God,  you  shall!" 

After  two  weeks  of  fruitless  search,  Tom  took  his 
broken-hearted  wife  home  to  Cliffside,  hoping  that  the 
sight  of  the  place  might  revive  her.  But  the  effect  was 
the  opposite,  for  every  thing  about  their  lovely  cottage 
and  its  surroundings  was  intimately  associated  with  little 
Angie,  who  had  been  her  inseparable  companion  during 
all  her  residence  there. 

Weeks  passed,  and  no  trace  of  the  child  was  found. 
Jim's  accomplice — Bill,  the  Kidnaper — was  indicted  for 
a  graver  crime,  previous  to  this  one,  and  received  a  sen- 
tence of  twenty  years  in  the  penitentiary. 

"No — no!"  moaned  Edith.  '-'Cliffside  can  never  seem 
like  home  to  me  again." 

Many  of  her  neighbors  called,    but  none  could  offer 


BELLE    ELOPES.  333 


any  consolation.  One  look  from  those  despairing  eyes 
was  sufficient  to  convince  them  that  words  intended  to 
console  would  only  revive  and  deepen  her  grief. 

Then  came  Granny  Jones.  She  sat  by  the  side  of  the 
weeping  mother  for  some  time  in  silence.  Addressing  the 
husband,  she  began: 

"Mr.  Weston,  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  this. 
Have  you  learned  who  stole  your  child?" 

"O  Granny!"  moaned  poor  Edith,  throwing  herself 
on  the  sofa  and  weeping  bitterly.  "Jim  Madison  and 
another  man  took  Angie  from  me." 

"We  caught  one  of  them,  but  Jim  Madison — if  he  is 
the  other — got  away,"  said  Tom. 

"But  this  Peruvian  gentleman — what  of  him?" 

"He  is  the  man!"  cried  Edith.  "He  stole  my  little 
Angie." 

"But  he  has  been  here.  About  two  weeks  ago  he 
and  Belle  Winslow  went  off  together — eloped,  they  call 
it.  Belle  told  my  daughter,  Mary,  that  they  were  going 
to  Peru." 

"Tom,"  said  Edith,  arising  from  the  sofa  and  going 
up  to  him,  "as  sure  as  there  is  a  God,  that  man  took  our 
baby!" 

"And  Belle  said  they  were  going  to  Peru,  did  she?" 
queried  Tom,  as  he  seated  Edith  in  a  chair  beside  him. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  old  lady.  "She  told  Mary  not 
to  breathe  a  word  of  it  to  any  one,  but  I  made  her  tell." 

"What  do  you  think,  Tom?"  asked  Edith,  after  Mrs. 
Jones  had  gone. 

"I  will  tell  you,  Kid,  just  what  I  think.     I  think  that 


334  RANSOM    OFFERED. 


Jim  intends  to  keep  little  Angie  till  he  can  arrive  at  an 
understanding  with  us  in  regard  to  her  restoration.  He 
wants  to  compel  us  to  let  up  on  him — to  let  him  go  free. 
I  think  that  he  will  remain  near  here,  for  I  don't  believe 
that  he  has  any  money  except  what  he  wins  at  cards  or 
some  thing  of  that  kind.  No  matter  how  much  he  would 
like  to  keep  Angie  away  from  us,  knowing  as  he  very  well 
does  how  it  tortures  you,  he  dare  not  keep  her  long  for 
fear  of  detection.  What  he  wants  is  to  treat  with  us, 
and  the  sooner  he  can  do  it  the  better  it  will  suit  him." 

"Can  't  we  hasten  the.  matter  by  advertising?"  asked 
Edith. 

"Yes,  Kid.  And  that  is  just  what  we  will  do.  We 
will  send  an  advertisement  tomorrow  and  have  it  pub- 
lished, offering  to  ransom  the  baby  and  let  the  offender 
go  on  his  own  terms." 

"But  will  you  do  that,  Tom?" 

"Yes,  Kid.  /  will  let  him  go,"  said  Tom,  with  a 
strong  and  suggestive  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 

"Ah,  I  understand,"  said  Edith.  "I  will  see  to  my 
part  of  it.  I  will  nail  him  to  the  cross." 

Thus  it  was  arranged,  and  on  the  morrow  the  notice 
was  sent  to  all  the  country  papers  and  also  to  some  of 
the  leading  papers  of  other  cities.  After  this  was  done, 
there  was  nothing  left  the  bereaved  parents  but  to  await 
the  answer. 

In  the  meantime  Belle  Winslow — Senora  Alvarez,  as 
she  had  thought  herself — became  aware  of  her  husband's 
poverty  and  true  character.  He  required  all  his  ready 
wit  as  well  as  cash  to  dissuade  her  from  exposing  him. 


THE    TREATY.  335 


A  quick  response  (came  to  the  offer  of  the  anxious 
parents.  Jim  made  a  demand  for  $10,000  and  immunity 
for  "the  affair  of  Angie,"  as  he  phrased  it,  and  also  for 
"any  previous  affair."  On  these  conditions  he  would, 
he  wrote,  '  'restore  the  lovely  cherub  to  her  rightful  own- 
ers." Acceptance  of  his  terms  would  release  him  from 
prosecution  for  four  other  crimes — the  murder  of  John 
Beaty,  the  abduction  of  Edith,  the  imprisonment  of 
Weston  and  complicity  in  the  attempt  to  destroy  Ruby 
Gulch. 

In  the  course  of  a  week  all  arrangements  were  com- 
pleted, and  Tom  and  Edith  set  out  for  San  Francisco. 

In  every  preliminary  step  taken  Edith  had  carefully 
avoided  committing  herself  to  any  promise  of  clemency 
to  Jim  Madison — the  man  who,  while  protesting  ardent 
love  for  her,  had  robbed  her  of  parents  and  fortune  and 
attempted  her  utter  ruin. 


336  EDITH    PLANS    A    RAID. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


LITTLE    ANGIE     RESTORED — JIM     MADISON     DEAD — EDITH'S 
VOW    FULFILLED. 

On  reaching  the  city,  Tom  went  at  once  to  the  place 
appointed  for  the  meeting  and  arranging  of  the  "treaty." 

Here  he  met  not  only  Jim  Madison,  but  his  duped 
consort,  Belle.  While  Tom  was  arranging  for  the  recov- 
ery of  little  Angie,  Edith  was  arranging  with  the  police 
to  raid  the  place  and  capture  the  criminal. 

Without  formal  greeting,  when  he  was  inside  the 
room,  Tom  began: 

"I  have  come,  according  to  our  agreement,  for  the 
child.  Our  agreement  has  already  been  made,  so  there 
is  nothing  to  talk  over.  Beside,  I  have  no  time  to  lose, 
and  the  sooner  this  deal  is  closed  the  better  for  all  the 
players." 

He  handed  the  money  to  Belle,  with  the  request  that 
she  verify  the  amount.  As  Tom  did  this,  he  covered  Jim 
with  his  revolver  and  commanded: 

"Give  me  the  babe." 

"You  will  find  the  child  at  this  place." 

Jim  handed  Tom  a  card  with  street  and  number  writ- 
ten on  it,  and  also  some  characters  which  he  said  would 
explain  matters  to  the  proprietors. 

"Yes,"  said  Tom,  "but  you  will  go  along  with  me; 
so  lead  the  way." 

With  a  terrible  foreboding  in  his  guilty  heart,  Jim 
Madison  reluctantly  obeyed. 


'HERE  Is  THE  MONEY. 
"337-  - 


HIGH-TONED   BLACKMAILERS.  339 

When  the  house  was  reached,  Tom  was  surprised  at 
rinding  it  one  of  the  finest  and  most  respectable  looking 
residences  in  the  fashionable  portion  of  the  city.  He 
could  hardly  believe  his  senses  when  he  was  assured  that 
there  was  no  mistake;  that  it  was  the  right  place. 

Their  summons  was  answered  by  a  Negro  servant, 
who  ushered  them  into  an  elegant  parlor,  where  he  left 
them,  after  assuring  them  that  the  "lady  of  the  house' 
would  soon  be  there  to  wait  upon  them. 

Although  Tom  wondered  at  the  strangeness  of  the 
situation,  he  asked  no  questions,  but  waited  impatiently 
for  the  arrival  of  the  hostess. 

Presently  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  lady  was  an- 
nounced by  the  black  servant  as  she  entered. 

Instantly  Tom  arose,  and,  handing  the  card  to  her, 
demanded: 

"Deliver  the  child  immediately!" 

She  rang  for  a  servant  and  instructed  her  to  bring  the 
child.  In  a  few  moments  she  returned  with  little  Angie. 

"Here!    Give  me  the  child,"  commanded  the  woman. 

"Curse  you — no!"  cried  Tom,  springing  before  the 
woman. 

"Fool!"  cried  she.  "One  word  from  me,  and  your 
life  shall  pay  the  forfeit  for  your  rashness!" 

"Ha!  Ha!  Ha!"  laughed  Jim  Madison,  and  that 
half-insane  look  gleamed  from  his  eyes.  "Ha!  Ha! 
You  are  trapped — nicely  trapped!  Oh,  ho!" 

Here  his  gloating  was  cut  short,  for  a  wild-eyed  girl 
dashed  through  the  door,  a»d  in  an  instant  seized  Angie 
from  the  servant's  arms  and  nearly  smothered  the  little 


340 


UXORICIDE. 


creature  with  her  kisses.      "My  baby!     My  sweet  baby!" 
cried  the  little  mother,  joyously. 

But  Jim  Madison,  so  suddenly  balked  in  his  gloating 
triumph,  failed  to  see  the  joyous  meeting  between  little 
Angie  and  her  mother,  for  directly  behind  Edith,  as  she 
rushed  into  the  room,  he  saw  with  a  feeling  of  impend- 
ing doom  the  blue  coats  of  a  score  of  policemen,  and  he 
knew  that  all  was  up  with  him. 

With  a  wild  look  flashing  from  his  snaky  eyes,  which 
plainly  denoted 
a  sudden  fit  of 
insanity,  he  drew 
his  revolver  and 
fired  at  Tom. 
But  Tom  was  on 
his  guard,  and, 
springing  aside, 
the  bullet  missed 
him  and  buried 
itself  in  the 
bosom  of  Belle 
Winslow.  Be- 
fore Jim  could 

shoot   again  Tom  was  upon  him,  and  with  a  blow  from 
the  butt  of  his  revolver  knocked  the  maniac  senseless. 

"Take  him  away,  and  send  a  physician  here  quick!" 
said  Tom.  Raising  the  wounded  girl,  he  laid  her  on  a 
sofa.  On  Tom's  formal  complaint,  every  inmate  of  the 
house  was  placed  under  arrest,  and  his  $10,000  was  re- 
turned to  him. 


"HEBREW  A  REVOLVER  AND  FIRED." 


EDITH    FORGIVES    BELLE.  341 

Soon  a  physician  came,  but  a  slight  examination  told 
him  that  Belle  was  mortally  wounded. 

"She  can  live  but  a  few  hours;  there  is  no  hope  for 
her. " 

'  'Let  us  move  her  to  the  hotel,  where  we  can  see 
after  her,"  said  Tom. 

In  obedience  to  this  request,  the  physician  had  Belle 
conveyed  to  the  Golden  Gate  Hotel,  where  Tom  and 
Edith  did  all  in  their  power  to  make  the  dying  girl  com- 
fortable and  to  banish  the  horror  of  death  which  seemed 
to  torment  her  terribly. 

A  message  was  at  once  sent  to  the  Winslows,  with 
an  urgent  appeal  to  start  immediately. 

Recovering  consciousness  shortly  after  her  removal  to 
the  hotel,  Belle  confessed  the  part  she  had  played  in  the 
plot,  and  begged  forgiveness. 

"Forgive  me,  Edith!  Hear  the  prayer  of  a  wicked, 
dying  girl!  Forgive  me,  Edith!" 

"Yes — I  do  forgive  you,"  answered  Edith.  She  could 
not  refuse  the  dying  girl's  frantic  plea.  "I  forgive  you, 
Belle,  and  may  God  forgive  you  also." 

"Oh,  how  dark  it  is!  How  cold — oh,  so  cold!"  She 
ceased  talking,  and  soon  ceased  to  breathe. 

"Poor  girl!"  sighed  Edith.  "Pity  she  could  not  be 
spared  to  see  her  mother!" 

Belle  died  about  midnight — some  hours  before  her 
parents  arrived. 

The  part  which  Belle  had  played  as  an  accomplice  of 
Jim  Madison  was  never  known  to  her  parents,  and  was 
only  told  to  a  trusted  few  of  the  neighbors  at  Cliffside. 


342  EDITH'S  vow  FULFILLED. 

Kind-hearted  Edith  could  not  bear  to  wring  the  mother's 
heart  by  letting  the  awful  truth  be  known. 

Jim  Madison  never  recovered  from  the  crushing  blow 
dealt  him  by  the  strong  arm  of  Tom  Weston.  For  two 
months  he  lingered  between  life  and  death,  enduring  the 
most  intense  suffering  possible  for  man,  both  of  body  and 
mind. 

For  the  first  three  weeks  he  had  been  insane — raving 
and  cursing  in  the  most  horrible  manner.  Then  his  mind 
cleared,  and  he  became  fully  cognizant  of  his  deplorable 
and  hopeless  condition. 

Bad  as  was  his  condition  in  his  demented  state,  it 
was  incomparably  worse  now,  for  his  guilty  and  cowardly 
soul  recoiled  from  death  in  abject,  unutterable  fear.  At 
last  he  sent  for  Tom  and  Edith,  and  with  his  dying 
breath  he  prayed  their  forgiveness. 

"I  do  not  blame  you,  Tom,"  he  said,  feebly. 

"Forgive  you?  Yes.  As  you  are  dying,  I  will  for- 
give you.  May  God  be  even  more  merciful  to  you!" 

Tom  then  turned  his  face  from  that  most  disgusting 
of  all  scenes — a  coward  writhing  in  fear. 


What  more  is  there  to  be  told?    , 

Nothing — nothing,  save  only  this: 

Tom  and  Edith,  with  little  Angie,  returned  to  Cliff- 
side  in  triumph,  for  their  work  was  done.  That  irrevoca- 
ble vow  which  Edith  made  over  the  still,  cold  form  of 
her  dead  mother  was  now  fulfilled,  and  she  was  free  to 


THE    CURTAIN    FALLS.  343 

enjoy  the  unalloyed  happiness  which  she  so  deservingly 
found  in  the  boundless  love  of  one  of  Nature's  noblemen. 
Added  to  this  good  fortune  were  two  possessions — a  baby 
girl  and  a  happy  home. 

"Thank  God!"  murmured  Edith.      "My  work  is  done 
and  I  am  free!" 


TEACHING  THE   DEAF  TO 
SPEAK. 


THE  TEETH  THE  BEST  MEDIUM  AND  THE  AUDIPHONE  THE 

BEST   INSTRUMENT   FOR   CONVEYING   SOUNDS  TO 

THE  DEAF,  AND  IN  TEACHING  THE  PARTLY 

DEAF  AND  DUMB  TO  SPEAK. 


ADDRESS  DELIVERED  BY  R.  S.  RHODES,  OF 

CHICAGO,  BEFORE  THE  FOURTEENTH  CONVENTION 

OF  AMERICAN  TEACHERS  OF  THE  DEAF,  AT 

FLINT,  MICHIGAN. 


MR.  PRESIDENT  AND  LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN: 

I  would  like  to  relate  some  of  the  causes  which  led  to 
my  presence  with  you  to-day. 

About  sixteen  years  ago  I  devised  this  instrument,  the 
audiphone,  which  greatly  assisted  me  in  hearing,  and 
discovered  that  many  who  had  not  learned  to  speak  were 
not  so  deaf  as  myself.  I  reasoned  that  an  instrument  in 
the  hands  of  one  who  had  not  learned  to  speak  would 
act  the  same  as  when  in  the  hands  of  one  who  had 
learned  to  speak,  and  that  the  mere  fact  of  one  not  being 
able  to  speak  would  in  no  wise  affect  the  action  of  the 
instrument.  To  ascertain  if  or  not  my  simple  reasoning 
was  correct,  I  borrowed  a  deaf-mute,  a  boy  about  twelve 
years  old,  and  took  him  to  my  farm.  We  arrived  there 
in  the  evening,  and  during  the  evening  I  experimented  to 


THE   AUDIPHONE. 

see  if  he  could  distinguish  some  of  the  vowel  sounds.  M^ 
experiments  in  this  direction  were  quite  satisfactory. 
Early  in  the  morning  I  provided  him  with  an  audiphone 
and  took  him  by  the  hand  for  a  walk  about  the  farm. 
We  soon  came  across  a  flock  of  turkeys.  We  approached 
closely,  the  boy  with  his  audiphone  adjusted  to  his  teeth, 
and  when  the  gobbler  spoke  in  his  peculiar  voice,  the  boy 
was  convulsed  with  laughter,  and  jumping  for  joy  con- 
tinued to  follow  the  fowl  with  his  audiphone  properly 
adjusted,  and  at  every  remark  of  the  gobbler  the  boy  was 
delighted.  I  was  myself  delighted,  and  began  to  think 
my  reasoning  was  correct. 

We  next  visited  the  barn.  I  led  him  into  a  stall  beside 
a  horse  munching  his  oats,  and  to  my  delight  he  could 
hear  the  grinding  of  the  horse's  teeth  when  the  audiphone 
was  adjusted,  and  neither  of  us  could  without.  In  the 
stable  yard  was  a  cow  lowing  for  its  calf,  which  he  plainly 
showed  he  could  hear,  and  when  I  led  him  to  the  cow- 
barn  where  the  calf  was  confined,  he  could  hear  it  reply 
to  the  cow,  and  by  signs  showed  that  he  understood  their 
language,  and  that  he  knew  the  one  was  calling  for  the 
other.  We  then  visited  the  pig-sty  where  the  porkers 
poked  their  noses  near  to  us.  He  could  hear  them  with 
the  audiphone  adjusted,  and  enjoyed  their  talk,  and 
understood  that  they  wanted  more  to  eat.  I  gave  him 
some  corn  to  throw  over  to  them,  and  he  signed  that  that 
was  what  they  wanted,  and  that  now  they  were  satisfied. 
He  soon,  however,  broke  away  from  me  and  pursued  the 
gobbler  and  manifested  more  satisfaction  in  listening  to 
its  voice  than  to  mine,  and  the  vowel  sounds  as  com- 
paied  to  it  were  of  slight  importance  to  him,  and  for  the 
three  days  he  was  at  my  farm  that  poor  turkey  gobbler 
had  but  little  rest* 


HEARING  THROUGH  THE  TEETH. 

With  these  and  other  experiments  I  was  satisfied  that 
he  could  hear,  and  that  there  were  many  like  him;  so  I 
took  my  grip  and  audiphones  and  visited  most  of  the 
institutions  for  the  deaf  in  this  country.  In  all  institu- 
tions I  found  many  who  could  hear  well,  and  presented 
the  instrument  with  which  this  hearing  could  be  improved 
and  brought  within  the  scope  of  the  human  voice.  But 
at  one  institution  I  was  astonished;  I  found  a  bright  girl 
with  perfect  hearing  being  educated  to  the  sign  language. 
She  could  repeat  words  after  me  parrot-like,  but  had  no 
knowledge  of  their  value  in  sentences.  I  inquired  why 
she  was  in  the  institution  for  the  deaf,  and  by  examining 
the  records  we  learned  she  was  the  child  of  deaf-mute 
parents,  and  had  been  brought  up  by  them  in  the  country, 
and  although  her  hearing  was  perfect,  she  had  not  heard 
fcpoken  language  enough  to  acquire  it,  and  I  was  informed 
by  the  superintendent  of  the  institution  that  she  pre- 
ferred signs  to  speech.  I  was  astonished  that  a  child 
with  no  knowledge  of  the  value  of  speech  should  be  per- 
mitted to  elect  to  be  educated  by  signs  instead  of  speech, 
and  to  be  so  educated  in  a  state  institution.  This  cir- 
cumstance convinced  me  more  than  ever  that  there  was 
a  great  work  to  be  done  in  redeeming  the  partly  deaf 
children  from  the  slavery  of  silence,  and  I  was  more 
firmly  resolved  than  ever  that  I  would  devote  the  re- 
mainder of  my  life  to  this  cause. 

I  have  had  learned  scientists  tell  me  that  I  could  not 
hear  through  my  teeth.  It  would  take  more  scientists 
than  ever  were  born  to  convince  me  that  I  did  not  hear 
/iy  sainted  mother's  and  beloved  father's  dying  voice 
with  this  instrument,  when  I  could  not  have  heard  it 
without. 


THE   AUDIPHONE. 

It  would  take  more  scientists  than  ever  were  born  to 
convince  me  that  I  did  not  hear  the  voice  of  the  Rev. 
James  B.  McClure,  one  who  has  been  dear  to  me  for  the 
last  twenty  years,  and  accompanied  rne  on  most  of  my 
visits  to  institutions  spoken  of  above,  and  who  has  en- 
couraged me  in  my  labors  for  the  deaf  all  these  years,  say, 
as  I  held  his  hand  on  his  dying  bed  only  Monday  last, 
and  took  my  final  leave  from  him  (and  let  me  say,  I 
know  of  no  cause  but  this  that  would  have  induced  me 
to  leave  him  then),  "  Go  to  Flint;  do  all  the  good  you 
can.  God  bless  your  labors  for  the  deaf!  We  shall 
never  meet  again  on  earth.  Meet  me  above.  Good-by!" 

And,  Mr.  President,  when  I  am  laid  at  rest,  it  will  be 
with  gratitude  to  you  and  with  greater  resignation  for  the 
active  part  you  have  taken  in  the  interest  of  these  partly 
deaf  children  in  having  a  section  for  aural  work  admitted 
to  this  national  convention,  for  in  this  act  you  have  con- 
tributed to  placing  this  work  on  a  firm  foundation,  which 
is  sure  to  result  in  the  greatest  good  to  this  class. 

You  have  heard  our  friend,  the  inventor  of  the  tele- 
phone, say  that  in  his  experiments  for  a  device  to  im- 
prove the  hearing  of  the  deaf,  (as  he  was  not  qualified 
by  deafness,)  he  did  not  succeed,  but  invented  the  tele- 
phone instead,  which  has  lined  his  pocket  with  gold. 
From  what  I  know  of  the  gentleman,  I  believe  he  would 
willingly  part  with  all  the  gold  he  has  received  for  the 
use  of  this  wonderful  invention,  had  he  succeeded  in  his 
efforts  in  devising  an  instrument  which  would  have 
emancipated  even  twenty  per  cent,  of  the  deaf  in  the  in- 
stitutions from  the  slavery  of  silence.  I  have  often 
wished  that  he  might  have  invented  the  audiphone  and 


HEARING  THROUGH  THE  TEETH. 

received  as  much  benefit  by  its  use  as  I,  for  then  he 
would  have  used  the  gold  he  derives  from  the  telephone 
in  carrying  the  boon  to  the  deaf;  but  when  I  consider 
that  in  wishing  this  I  must  wish  him  deaf,  and  as  it  would 
not  be  right  for  me  to  wish  him  this  great  affliction,  there- 
fore since  I  am  deaf,  and  I  invented  the  audiphone,  I 
would  rather  wish  that  I  might  have  invented  the  tele- 
phone also;  in  which  case  I  assure  the  deaf  that  I  would 
have  used  my  gold  as  freely  in  their  behalf  as  would  he. 
[The  speaker  then  explained  the  use  of  the  audiometer 
in  measuring  the  degree  of  hearing  one  may  possess. 
Then,  at  his  request,  a  gentleman  from  the  audience,  a 
superintendent  of  one  of  our  large  institutions,  took  a 
position  about  five  feet  from  the  speaker,  and  was  asked 
to  speak  loud  enough  for  Mr.  Rhodes  to  hear  when  he  did 
not  have  the  audiphone  in  use,  and  by  shouting  at  the  top 
of  his  voice,  Mr.  Rhodes  was  able  to  hear  only  two  or 
three  "o"  sounds,  but  could  not  distinguish  a  word. 
With  the  audiphone  adjusted  to  his  teeth,  still  looking 
away  from  the  speaker,  he  was  able  to  understand  ordinary 
tones,  and  repeated  sentences  after  him;  and,  when  look- 
ing at  him  and  using  his  eye  and  audiphone,  the  speaker 
lowering  his  voice  nearly  as  much  as  possible  and 
yet  articulating,  Mr.  Rhodes  distinctly  heard  every 
word  and  repeated  sentences  after  him,  thus  showing  the 
value  of  the  audiphone  and  eye  combined,  although  Mr 
Rhodes  had  never  received  instructions  in  lip  reading. 
The  gentleman  stated  that  he  had  tested  Mr.  Rhodes' 
hearing  with  the  audiometer  when  he  was  at  his  institu- 
tion in  1894,  and  found  he  possessed  seven  per  cent,  in 
his  left  ear  and  nothing  in  his  right.] 


FOR  THE  DEAF. 


THE  AUDIPHONE 


An  Instrument  that  Enables  Deaf  Persons  to  Hear  Or- 
dinary Conversation  Readily  through  the  Medium 
of  the  Teeth,  and  Many  of  those  BO"I  Deaf  and 
Dumb  to  Hear  and  i.earn  to  Speak. 

INVENTED  BY  RICHARD  S.  RHODES,  CHICAGO, 

Medal  Awarded  at  the  World's  Columbian  Expo- 
sition, Chicago, 

The  Audiphone  is  a  new  instrument  made  of  a  peculiar  composi- 
tion, posessing  the  property  of  gathering  the  faintest  sounds  (some- 
what similar  to  a  telephone  diaphragm),  and  conveying  them  to  the 
auditory  nerve,  through  the  medium  of  the  teeth.  The  external  tar 
has  nothing  whatever  to  do  in  hearing  with  this  wonderful  instru- 
ment. 

Thousands  are  in  use  by  those  who  would  not  do  without  them  for 
any  consideration.  It  has  enabled  doctors  and  lawyers  to  resume 
practice,  teachers  to  resume  teaching,  mothers  to  hear  the  voices  of 
their  children,  thousands  to  hear  their  minister,  attend  concerts  and 
theatres,  and  engage  in  general  conversation.  Music  is  heard  per- 
fectly with  it  when  without  it  not  a  note  could  be  distinguished.  It  is 
convenient  to  carry  and  to  use.  Ordinary  conversation  can  be  heard 
with  ease.  In  most  cases  deafness  is  not  detected. 

Full  instructions  will  be  sent  with  each  instrument.  The  Audi- 
phone  is  patented  throughout  the  civilized  world. 


Conversational,  small  size,               •               •               •  $3  oo 

Conversational,  medium  size,                 -               -  3  oo 

Concert  size.      -                -               -               -               -  5  cx> 

Trial  instruments,  good  and  serviceable,             •            •            -  150 

The  Audiphone  will  be  sent  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

RHODES  &  M'CLURE  PUBLISHING  CO., 

fox  tla.Q  "World.. 


PUBLISHED  BY 
RHODES  &  McCLURE  PUBLISHING  CO., 

CHICAGO. 


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newly  revised  (1897)  edition;  409  pages.  Containing  the  many 
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man, including  his  recent  matchless  "Eulogy  on  Abraham  Lincoln," 
"Speech  on  the  Declaration  of  Independence,"  "To  the  Farmers  on 
Farming,"  Funeral  Oration  at  his  Brother's  Grave,  etc.,  etc.  Fully 
and  handsomely  illustrated. 

WIT,  WISDOM  AND  ELOQUENCE  OF  COL.  R.  G.  INGERSOLL; 
newly  revised  popular  (1897)  edition,   illustrated;  336  pages.     Con- 
taining the  remarkable  Witticisms,  terse,  pungent  ?nd  sarcastic  sayings, 
and   eloquent   extracts    on   popular    themes,  from  Ingersoll's  Speeches;  a 
very  entertaining  volume. 

THE  FIRST  MORTGAGE;  310  pages.  A  truthful,  instructive,  pleas- 
ing and  poetical  presentation  of  Bib'ical  stories,  history  and  gospel 
truth;  fully  and  handsomely  illustrated  from  the  world-renowned  artist, 
Gustave  Dore,  by  E.  U.  Cook,  the  whole  forming  an  exceedingly  inter- 
esting and  entertaining  poetical  Bible.  One  of  the  handsomest  volumes 
ever  issued  in  Chicago. 


Standard  Publications,  $1  each,  bound  in  Cloih. 


TEN  YEARS  A  COW  BOY.  A  full  and  vivid  de- 
scription of  frontier  life,  including  romance,  advent- 
ure and  all  the  varied  experiences  incident  to  a  life 
on  the  plains  as  cow  boy,  stock  owner,  rancher,  etc., 
together  with  articles  on  cattle  and  sheep  raising, 
how  to  make  money,  description  of  the  plains,  etc., 
etc.  Illustrated  with  100  full-page  engravings,  and 
contains  reading  matter  471  pages. 

WILD  LIFE  IN  THE  FAR  WEST.     By  C.   H.  Simpson,    a  resident 
detective,  living  in  this  country.   Giving  a  full  and  graphic  account 
of  his  thrilling  adventures  among  the  Indians  and  outlaws  of  Mon- 
tana— including  hunting,  hair-breadth  escapes,  captivity,  punishment  and 
difficulties  of  all  kinds  met  with  in  this  wild  and  lawless  country.     Illus- 
trated by  30  full-page  engravings,  by  G.  S.  Littlejohn,  and  contains  read- 
ing matter  264  pages. 

A  YANKEE'S  ADVENTURES  IN  SOUTH  AFRICA.     (In  the  dia- 
mond country.)    By  C.  H.  Simpson.  Giving  the  varied  experiences, 
adventures,  dangers  and  narrow  escapes   of  a  Yankee  seeking  his 
fortune  in  this  wild  country,  which  by  undaunted  courage,  perseverance, 
suffering,   fighting  and  adventures  of  various  sorts  is  requited  at  last  by 
the  ownership  of  the  largest  diamond  taken  out  of  the  Kimberly  mines 
up  to  that  time,  and  with  the  heart  and  hand  of  the  fairest  daughter  of  a 
diamond  kin^.     Containing  30  full-page  illustrations  by  H.   DeLay  and 
reading  matter  220  pages. 


WIT.  Contains  sketches  from  Mark  Twain,  witticisms 
from  F.  H.  Carruth,  Douglas  Jerrold,  M.  Quad,  Op  e 
Reid,  Mrs.  Partington,  Eli  Perkins,  O'Malley,  Bill 
Nj'e,  Artemus  Ward,  Abe  Lincoln,  Burdette,  Daniel 
Webster,  Victor  Hugo,  Brother  Gardner,  Clinton 
Scollard,  Tom  Hood,  L.  R.  Catlin,  Josh.  Billings, 
Chauncey  Depew  and  all  humorous  writers  of  mod- 
ern times.  Illustrated  with  75  full  page  engravings, 
by  H.  DeLay,  and  contains  reading  matter  407  pages. 

BENONI  AND  SERAPTA.     A  Story  of  the  Time  of  the  Great  Con- 
stantine,  Founder  of  the  Christian  Faith.     By  Douglas  Vernon.    A 
religious   novel    showing  a  Parsee's   constancy  and    faith    through 
many  persecutions,    trials  and  difficulties,   placed  in  his  way  by  priests, 
nobles  and  queens  of  his  time  and  his  final  tiiumph  over  all  obstacles. 
Being  an  interesting  novel,  int -nded  to  show   the  state  of  the  religious 
feelings  and  unscrupulous  intrigues   of  those  professing  religion  at  the 
time  of  the  foundation  of  the  Christian  faith.     Illustrated  with  33  full- 
page  engravings,  by  H.  DeLay,  and  contains  reading  matter  389  pages. 


Standard  Publications,  $1  each,  bound  in  Cloth. 


EVILS  OF  THE  CITIES:  By  T.  DeWitt  Talmage,  D.  D.;  530  pages. 
The  author,  in  company  with  the  proper  detectives,  visited  many  of 
the  most  vile  and  wicked  places  in  New  York  City  and  Brooklyn,  osten- 
5ibly  looking  for  a  thief,  but  in  reality  taking  notes  for  a  feries  of 
discourses  published  in  this  volume,  which  contains  a  full  and  graphic 
description  cf  what  he  saw  and  the  lessens  drawn  therefrom.  The  Doctor 
has  also  exterded  his  observations  to  the  "Summer  Resorts,"  "Watering 
Places,"  Races,  etc.,  etc.,  all  of  which  are  popularized  from  his  standpoint 
in  this  volume.  Handsomely  illustrated  and  decidedly  interesting. 

TALMAGE  IN  THE  HOLY  LAND:  322  pages.  The 
Palestine  Sermons  of  T.  DeWitt  Talmage,  delivered  during 
his  tour  of  the  Holy  Land.  Including  graphic  descriptions 
of  Sacred  Places,  Vivid  Delineations  of  Gospel  Truths, 
interesting  local  reminiscences,  etc.,  etc.,  by  his  visit  to  the 
many  places  made  sacred  by  the  personal  presence  of  Jesus 
and  the  great  pens  of  Biblical  characters  and  writers. 
Copiously  illustrated. 

SIN :  A  series  of  popular  discourses  delivered  by  T.  DeWitt 
Talmage,  D.  D.,  and  illustrated  with  136  engravings  by 
H.  De  Lay;  411  pages. 

KfcN HILL'S  POPULAR  SERMONS:  373  pages.  Delivered  in  Lon- 
11  con  and  America  by  the  Rev.  John  McNeill,  one  of  the  ablest  and 
most  p  pular  of  living  divines,  j.nd  1-nown  on  both  continents  as  "  TKB 
SCCTCH  SPURGEON  "  of  Europe,  of  whom  D.  L.  Moody  has  said:  "  He  is 
the  greatest  preacher  in  the  wcrld."  A  most  clear,  vivid,  earnest  and 
life-like  presentation  of  Gospel  Truth;  sincerely  and  decidedly  spiritual. 
A  ir  ost  edifying,  instructive  and  entertaining  volume  for  young  end  old. 


EDISCN  AND  HIS  INVENTIONS:  278  pages.  Containing 
full  illustrated  explanations  of  the  new  and  wonderful  Pho- 
nograph, Telephone,  Electric  Light,  and  all  his  principal 
inventions,  in  Edison's  own  language,  generally,  including 
many  incidents,  anecdotes  and  interesting  particulars  connect- 
ed with  the  earlier  and  later  life  of  the  world-renowned 
inventor,  tegether  with  a  full  Electrical  Dictionary,  explain- 
ing all  of  the  new  electrical  terms;  making  a  very  <  ntertain- 
ing  and  valuable  book  of  the  life  and  works  of  Edison. 
Profusely  illustrated. 


GEMS  OF  TRUTH  AND  BEAUTY.  A  choice  selection 
of  wise,  eloquent  extracts  from  Talmage,  Beecher,  Moody 
Spurgeon,  Guthrie  and  Parker,  forming  a  volume  that 
keenly  interests.  A  good  gift  and  center  table  Look 
300  pages,  Illustrated. 


WEBSTER'S 

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